


Where or When

by BiteMeMarvelCanon



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fix-It, Time Travel, steggyweek2k16
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2018-07-10 22:22:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7010722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiteMeMarvelCanon/pseuds/BiteMeMarvelCanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy Carter finds herself in 1979 and isn't quite sure how she got there. She needs to figure out what's happening and return to her own time but finds herself becoming distracted by a coworker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to Steggy Positivity Week on Tumblr. The theme is Day 02: AU/ Crossover. This is the first of several planned chapters.
> 
> Peggy in this story is coming from 1946, after the events of Agent Carter Season 1, but before Season 2.

As the world stopped spinning around her and her head cleared a little, Peggy realized she was in a bar.

Quick thinking and reflexes kept her from falling off the barstool she was perched on, and she covered her dizziness by pretending that she had bent down to brush a speck of dust off her trousers. They were wide-legged like a sailor's, and the material felt vaguely artificial and rather scratchy. A jacket of the same material and color was on the barstool next to her with a handbag, presumably hers.

How she had gotten here was more mysterious. She had been working with Howard and Jarvis on a mission that the SSR and especially Sousa would not have approved of. She remembered going into the warehouse, opening something, but the next thing she knew, she was here.

Howard had said that the artifact they were after was of immense power, like the Tesseract, something that might even have the power to distort time. Had it brought her here somehow? Or had they been captured, and this was some kind of enemy manipulation?

Since she did not know precisely where or when she was or even who she was, it was time to do what she did best: attack the problem head-on. She had to start gathering intelligence.

It was daylight. She was in a small bar, nothing fancy, but well-kept. Several men in military uniforms were scattered around, sipping beers and chatting. So she was presumably near a military base and working in some job affiliated with it.

She was wearing a pantsuit with a silky blouse that had more buttons undone than she considered proper. She was also wearing several fine gold necklaces, something she never did when she was involved in fieldwork due to their potential to be used by an assailant. So she must be in a fairly sedate desk job, at least for today.

She reached for the handbag on the stool next to her. Her work ID should give her a clue to her exact job, and her driver's license would give her the approximate year.

As she reached to her left to retrieve her handbag, her knee moved to the right, slightly bumping the man sitting next to her.

Before she could say "Excuse me," he had already apologized. She wondered what kind of a person apologized when someone else bumped into them.

As she sat up straight and fished in the handbag for her wallet, the voice that she had heard suddenly registered. She would know it anywhere. She had heard it on battlefields, in strategy sessions, and had never stopped hearing it in her dreams, although it remained frustratingly difficult to recall exactly when she was awake.

She turned her head to look at him at the same moment he did. She was sitting next to...

"Steve Rogers," he smiled, offering his hand. She took it tentatively, still managing a decently firm handshake purely out of habit. She knew it was customary for her to announce her name, but at the moment it escaped her.

Taking the pause in stride, he continued "You're Peggy, aren't you?" Colonel Phillips introduced us a while ago I think, when I joined the project. You probably don't remember me, though."

She continued to just stare at him. She knew she needed to stop, both out of a risk of raising suspicion as well as common courtesy, but it was extremely difficult. "Oh, of course I remember you," she finally managed, "Steve, right?" She asked.

"Right." An awkward pause ensued.

Wanting to make up for her strange behavior, she felt compelled to ask a question; "So how have...things...been at work?"

Brilliant. That awkwardly phrased question would certainly put to rest any concerns over her behavior. Fortunately he did not seem to notice.

"Fine, good," he replied, looking at his beer.

She looked at her glass. Whiskey, presumably, and half-empty. She dug around for her wallet in the handbag.

She would find her address, finish her drink, and go home. Better not to engage him in too much conversation. If she was time-traveling, if such a thing was even possible, she did not want to meddle with things. If she was hallucinating or being manipulated somehow, she did not want to provide any information.

A cracking noise and the startled reactions of several of the men in the bar jolted her out of her thoughts. She fumbled in her bag where she sincerely hoped she had a gun and turned towards the noise, which had come from the other end of the bar. Steve had done the same.

She quickly realized that the sound had come from a television and that the reactions were to a home run hit in the baseball game. The batter had broken his bat with a loud crack.

Steve noticed that she had turned to look at the game. "Do you like baseball?" He asked.

Yes, she wanted to reply. Because you did. Because you used to talk to me about it. And I asked you all kinds of questions just to keep you talking to me. And when I lost you and the war was over, I followed Brooklyn because it made me feel just a little close to you again. I would listen to games on the radio and even went to a few. But she couldn't say any of that. She couldn't even allow herself to think about it. She needed to keep a clear head, figure out what was happening to her, and stop it. She realized he was still looking at her, waiting for a response.

"Yes," she finally answered, swallowing all of the words she couldn't say along with a sip of whiskey, "I do."

"Me too," he replied, seemingly relieved to have found a topic to discuss. Do you follow the Dodgers?" He asked, gesturing towards the television.

"Ah, I used to be quite a fan, but I haven't kept up with them lately," she offered. Well, that was certainly the truth, she thought. "You?"

"Yes, they've always been my team, although I can't forgive them for leaving Brooklyn."

Their conversation proceeded much more smoothly from there, watching the game and commenting on the umpire's calls, the placement of the outfielders, and how to put a batting order together properly.

She was amazed and delighted at being able to watch a game from the comfort of the bar and not just listen to it on the radio. She had often been quite uncomfortable in the bleachers in the games that she attended. She had also likely been the only fan in the stadium who enjoyed hot tea in a thermos and biscuits instead of hot dogs and beer.

The game had come to an end. Her glass was almost empty, and she had certainly spent enough time talking to this version of Steve that he would not mention to anyone that she was acting strangely. It was time to go home, wherever that currently was.

So why was she glued to her seat, reluctant to go anywhere, hoping that he would ask her if she wanted another drink or begin another topic of conversation? Why couldn't she focus on the mission as she always managed to do?

She wasn't sure she wanted to think about the answer.

It was starting to get dark outside. As the game ended, the makeup of the crowd began to change a little as single sports fans filtered out and more couples filtered in. Awkward pairs on what looked like first (and possibly last) dates, and comfortable couples who knew each other's jokes and whose wedding rings had worn grooves in their fingers.

She felt a pang that they were neither of those things to each other, and never would be.

As she contemplated this unhappy thought, she stared at a couple who had started to dance in the small open area beyond the tables. They were one of the comfortable pairs, 40ish. The music was of quite a different style than what she was used to, but not unpleasant.

The man spun the woman into a silly twirl as they laughed together. She realized that Steve was watching her silently. "They seem quite happy," she sighed.

"Oh, would you like to dance?" She hadn't meant to imply that she was waiting for an invitation. He had already extended his hand and was looking at her expectantly.

She should say "No, thank you." That she was tired, that she had had a lovely time talking to him but had an early day tomorrow, any reasonable excuse. It simply would not do to complicate her current situation by becoming involved to any extent with Steve. In these circumstances, he could only be another person she had to lie to.

"Yes, I'd love to, actually," she replied, taking his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peggy is wearing polyester bell bottoms, and that is as horrible as it sounds. Ask me how I know.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Peggy took his hand and they walked the few steps to the small dance floor together. She couldn't quite bring herself to look up at him as they faced each other; instead she kept her head level, staring at the insignia on his lapel. As he put his broad, warm hand on the small of her back, she felt an electric charge. She was aware of every centimeter of her back that he was touching. Likewise, as she put her left hand on his shoulder, she could feel every sensation magnified.

He took her other hand in his as they slowly began to move to the music. The same song as before was still playing, presumably one that was currently popular that she had never heard. There was something suggestive about the music that led her to consider other activities that the two of them could enjoy together. Just the ghost of the thought made the bottom drop out of her stomach. Trying to compose herself, she finally dared a look up at him only to see him looking down at her so tenderly that she felt light-headed. That certainly would not help her to compose herself, but she forced herself to meet his gaze, to memorize every sensation of dancing with him.

They had shared many significant moments looking at each other before, but this was different. Those looks had said I want you or I need you or even I love you, but this look was, if possible, more intense. Any misgivings that she had had about not getting involved with him melted under the intensity of the way he was looking at her.

She was about to take a step closer to him to close the distance between them when the song abruptly ended. Bitterly disappointed but trying not to appear to be some desperate, love struck schoolgirl, she took her hand off of his shoulder and started to step away, but he kept her hand firmly in his, and his other hand had not moved from the small of her back. His eyes were still locked to hers as he asked "One more?" She certainly didn't need any convincing. She nodded, not trusting herself to say anything. She replaced her hand on his shoulder and stepped closer, pressing her body against him and melting into him. She laid her head on his chest. If his touch had been like an electric shock, being pressed up against him was a sensation she had trouble processing. It was if the flip in her stomach was everywhere in her body at once.

The desire she felt for him was almost overwhelming and left little room for other thoughts. His body was warm and solid pressed to hers. She could hear his heart beating in his chest, and she could feel his warm breath on the top of her head. She felt safe and...content? She wasn't sure if she had ever felt content. Everything was erased at that moment, a year of mourning and missing him, and willing herself to go on. She sighed peacefully. Her concerns about what exactly was happening receded. She didn't know or care if this was real, as long as it was real right now. She had fought for so long, denied herself a relationship with him during the war when she had the chance, spent a year with the bitterest regrets. Could it be wrong to just enjoy their dance?

Time seemed to slow down as he held her, and nothing but him seemed real. For a moment she was able to pay attention to the music. It was an old song that she had heard many times, although this was some more recent version of it.

 _It seems we stood and talked like this before,_  
We looked at each other in the same way then,  
But I can't remember where...  
Or when.

  
How appropriate, she thought wryly. As the song ended, and another louder dance song began, the mood was broken. They walked back to the bar holding hands. "Shall we go?" he asked, seemingly eager to be gone. "Yes, I suppose we should." She collected her things and they walked out together.

As the cool night air hit her, her head cleared somewhat and she realized that she still didn't know where she lived. As if he was reading her mind, Steve asked if he could walk her home. They were on a commercial street, which gave her an idea to stall.  
"Thanks, but I have a little shopping to do before I head home," she answered. She had spotted a grocery store a little way down across the street and nodded in its direction. Going in there should give her time to figure out where she lived and how to get there. Hopefully he didn't also need anything from the market.

He seemed to take the hint, but first he took both of her hands in his and looked into her eyes. "I enjoyed our dance," he said quietly, again looking at her with an intensity that took her by surprise. He bent his head down to kiss her good night, and against her better judgment, she responded. She had forgotten how soft his lips were and what he tasted like, but as soon as they kissed, she didn't know how she could have ever forgotten.

"Maybe I'll see you at work tomorrow?"

She nodded.

"Well, good night then."

"Good night," she replied as he caressed her cheek one more time. She leaned into the caress and closed her eyes. For a moment, she thought they might kiss again, but he moved his hand away, turned, and was gone.

A good night's sleep helped her feel more like herself. She had found her apartment without too much trouble with the help of her driver's license and a map. Even though she had been distracted last night, this was a new day and a fresh start for figuring out what she was going to do. The first step was getting into her office to survey her available resources. She knew where she worked from her ID badge, but not the exact location of her desk in the building. Although fearlessness and thinking on her feet were her strongest points as an agent, this required more advanced planning and subterfuge. She packed the heaviest book she could find in the apartment into her briefcase and surveyed her closet.

She found some truly awful clothing there. Apparently this Peggy Carter was a daytime drinker with terrible taste, two facts that were perhaps related. Many of the items were serviceable, though. She had not set her hair last night, but from what she had seen, personal grooming was not much in fashion these days, at least where hair was concerned. A slightly rumpled style would be acceptable for work, she supposed.

At least she had found several tubes of red lipstick stashed in her bathroom, handbag, and various coat pockets. It was familiar, comforting, and non-negotiable.

As she navigated the streets, she had to revise her opinion of the clothes she had found in her closet. They really weren't that bad at all. The things she saw people wearing ranged from the merely unkempt to the utterly ridiculous. Many people paraded around in denim pants with exaggerated silhouettes and what appeared to be undershirts. Others wore outlandish prints and clashing colors. Everyone had more hair and no one seemed to own a hairbrush.

She was relieved to arrive at the SSR building and to see that more sedate suits were still worn in professional settings. The lobby was huge and modern, but she had to pass through a narrow entryway with a guard booth to get to the elevators. She showed her badge and told the guard, who recognized her, that she had tweaked her shoulder and needed someone to come down from her floor to carry it for her. This was how she had planned to find her desk, following whoever came to help her instead of leading. She had often used similar tactics, feigning feminine weakness in order to appear non-threatening and get into places she was not wanted, using men's tendency to underestimate her against them.

The guard had picked up the phone to place the call when the voice of someone coming through the security check on the other side interrupted them. "You don't need to call anyone; I can help Agent Carter with her briefcase."

It was Steve, and he had perfectly awful timing.

"That's all right," she replied quickly, "I wouldn't want to trouble you."

"No trouble at all," he countered, smiling broadly at her and picking up the briefcase as though it weighed nothing. She wondered if he had always been strong or if he was enhanced, like her Steve. It was hardly something she could ask him.

There was no plausible objection she could make, so she accompanied him to the elevators. How was she going to find her desk now? "What do you have in here anyway that's so heavy?"

His cheery demeanor and obliviousness to ruining her plan set her off a bit.

"My rock collection, I miss it terribly when I'm at work all day," she snapped.

If she was rude to him, perhaps he would leave her alone and she could find her way to her desk in some other way. He had not responded. She looked over at him to gauge whether she had sufficiently scared him off with her acid tone, only to realize, to her horror, that amusement, not annoyance, glittered in his eyes. He wasn't saying anything because he appeared to be holding back a laugh. This actually did make her a little angry. He had mucked up her plan and now he was having a good laugh at her.

"What's so funny?" She turned to face him, putting her hands on hips and fixing a withering look on him.

"Nothing," was all he managed to squeak out, still suppressing a chuckle.

"Then why are you laughing?" She demanded. But as she looked at him, his smile was so good-natured and infectious, and the absurdity of the situation suddenly struck her. She had spent a year wishing she could see Steve again. Now he was here, or at least a version of him was, and she was annoyed with him because he had interfered with her plan to find her desk, which she did not know the location of because she was apparently time traveling. Your typical everyday problems. She smiled in spite of herself.

He smiled back broadly. In that moment, she didn't care if she found her desk or if she had a reasonable explanation for why not. She was just lucky to have him there. It was a pleasure just to be around him again, another thing she had somehow forgotten. It was as if she had been holding a breath without realizing it ever since he--was gone, and now she was finally able to let it out.

The elevator arrived and he put his hand out so that the door would not close while he waited for her to step in. He stepped in after her and leaned down to press the button. "You're on five, right?"

"Yes, five." She agreed absently, her attention momentarily fixed on the bare skin on the back of his neck between his neatly trimmed hairline and his collar. She wondered what it would be like to brush it with her fingers, or her lips.

Arriving at the fifth floor, he strode confidently to her desk. She trailed ever so slightly behind so as not to reveal that she didn't know where it was.

He deposited her briefcase on the desk. "Hope you feel better with your rock collection close to you," he said with a grin. Still a bit of a smart ass, to use the American vernacular.

Before she could formulate a suitably scathing reply, he asked sincerely if she was free for lunch. She agreed, and he said he would come by her desk again around noon.

She spent the morning familiarizing herself with files in her desk and getting a general idea of what she was supposed to be doing around there. She tried to stop looking up at the clock every ten minutes, but failed miserably. A few minutes before twelve, Steve appeared at her desk and they went to the cafeteria on the first floor. The food was indifferent, but their conversation so engaging that the hour passed quickly. Walking her back to her desk, he asked if she was free on Friday evening. It was already Thursday. He was apparently as eager as she to nail down the details of their next encounter before their lunch date ended, she realized with delight.

"Yes, what did you have in mind?"

"Dinner and a movie?"

"Sounds lovely."

"Shall I pick you up around 7? Trust my judgment for picking a restaurant and a movie?"

"Implicitly," she said, smiling. She would gladly eat a hot dog from a street vendor and watch a military hygiene film if it meant spending the evening with him. But she sagely kept this thought to herself.

When they reached her desk, she wrote out her address for him. It was easy to give him directions as they were fresh in her mind. She told him her phone service was out to explain why she didn't give him her number. The real reason being, of course, that she didn't know it. But he gave her his number in case she needed to change the plans for some reason.

The rest of the day at work was as uneventful as the morning. Her first stop after work was the public library. She checked out several books on post-WWII history. She would also need to spend some time there looking at the last year's worth of magazines and newspapers. And she absolutely had to find out when the Dodgers had left Brooklyn.

She fell asleep contentedly, thinking about seeing him again.

Snow was falling outside, and the apartment was cold. She crossed the room to the phone to dial his number. She picked up the receiver and carefully started to dial on the new kind of phone she often saw here, with buttons. She had gotten through three numbers when she pressed a wrong number. She hung up, waited, and dialed again. Again she made a mistake and had to hang up. She started to feel a familiar dread. She could not reach him. She tried to dial again and again, but something went wrong, every single time. The more determined she was to dial the number correctly, the more impossible it become. She knew, in the strange logic of dreams, that she had lost him, foolishly, through her own fault.

She woke up in a cold sweat. She had often had dreams like this since she lost him, and they always destroyed her. It was early in the morning, but late enough that it didn't make sense to try to go back to sleep. She put some water on for tea and tried to shake off the feeling of dread. Everything was all right, she told herself. She would see him later today.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song they dance to is "Where or When."


	3. Scenes from an Italian restaurant

The late 70s didn't seem all that alien to her in many ways. The kitchen appliances were familiar although markedly more efficient. The telephone worked the same. The newspaper arrived daily, full of wars and political scandals. The mail came daily as well and always contained bills. Television was the biggest change--apparently everyone had one nowadays, they were all in color, and there was quite a selection of programs. Peggy rather liked settling down to watch television in the evenings after a long day at work and reading through dinner; she told herself it was all research into popular culture.

Outside her apartment, things were generally also familiar. One still bought groceries, although she found the prices atrocious.

Cars were much more numerous and rather ridiculous looking, but that matched the taste in clothing in this era. There was something to be said for consistency.

Howard would have been disappointed that they still had all four wheels on the ground. She had tried to contact him, but there was no Jarvis in this reality, at least not working for Howard. She had been stonewalled by one of Howard's secretaries, who would only say that he was out of the country and not reachable. She had left the message that Peggy Carter needed to talk to him about an urgent matter involving one of his inventions. She hoped that that would be enough to get his attention, even if they were not previously acquainted in this time period. For now, all she could do was wait.

Waiting was rather the theme of the day. The workday seemed to drag on as she robotically went through her assigned tasks. Upon arriving home, she went through her closet again, unsure of what to wear for a date in 1979. If she was honest with herself, she would admit she would have had the same problem in 1946: she was nervous.

She wanted to look her best, but not as if she was trying too hard. After three wardrobe changes, she was back to her original dress. It was a printed dress that wrapped around in the front and tied at the side. It was vaguely professional looking, but was also rather low-cut. She hoped it skirted the line between respectability and sex appeal that she was balancing on.

It was hard to believe she was nervous about seeing him, given all of their history. But this wasn't exactly the man she had fought the war with, even if he was the same in essentials. And this was still their first official date, very different from running into each other at that bar or having lunch during the workday. There was no more pretense to hide behind, that they were work acquaintances who were just spending some time together. This was a real date.

She knew why the idea of a real date made her nervous. Her insecurities came rushing back, feelings that had long been buried by her overwhelming grief. During the war, she had not been sure Steve was really interested in her, in spite of the way he looked at her. Had he really seen her, or just someone who had believed in him when no one else did? Did he have a crush on the first woman he had ever had a real conversation with, or was he in love with her? When the war was over, would he want her alone, when he would have the opportunity to be with any woman he wanted?

She remembered Private Lorraine. That was part of what had bothered her so much: the idea that if some other woman paid attention to him, he would be just as responsive.

What if he didn't like her that much when she was just herself?

  
It was 6:55, and she was dressed and ready, sitting on her couch. She stood up, smoothed her dress, then sat down again. She refused to sit around pining over a man. She looked around the apartment for something to occupy her. She remembered that she hadn't replaced the burnt out lightbulb above her kitchen table. She got a new bulb, turned off the light, slipped off her shoes, and climbed up on the table to change it. She had to unscrew the old bulb in stages since it was still hot. She was about to screw the new bulb in when there was a knock at the door. "Come in, it's open," she called.

The door opened to reveal Steve with a shy smile on his face in a blue shirt that matched his eyes. She had never been particularly attracted to blue eyes, but his were an exception, deep and kind. He looked so handsome, and he was here, in her apartment. She had to suppress a sigh.

He scanned the apartment, looking for her. It took a moment for him to locate her on top of the table. "What are you doing up there?"

"Changing a lightbulb that burnt out. Sorry I couldn't get the door."

He walked over to the table as she finished screwing the bulb in. "There. That's taken care of."

She hesitated for a moment about how to get down. She could have stepped down to one of the chairs and then onto the floor, but Steve was standing right there, looking at her expectantly. "Can I help you down?" He asked, reaching his hands toward her waist.

"Yes, thank you," she smiled, putting her hands on his shoulders. He set her gently down in front of him. She reluctantly took her hands off his shoulders. They were not touching, but were standing so close she could feel the heat radiating off of his body. Their height differential was more evident since she hadn't put her heels back on, and she had to crane her neck more than usual to look up at him.

She had never been alone with him like this before: completely alone with no possibility of interruption. It had been only two days since they had kissed after meeting in the bar, but it felt like an eternity. She stared at him and he stared at her. Here it was again, the staring. She had often berated herself for it. There had been entirely too much staring and not enough doing between them. But now she remembered how mesmerizing it was just to look at him, how it felt just to exist where he existed. After a few moments, Steve let out a breath and rubbed his eyes briefly. "You look beautiful," he said. "Thank you, so do you--I mean, you look very handsome." He blushed.

She showed him around her small apartment, such as it was. He helped her on with her coat, and they were finally off on their first date. A mere three years after she had first laid eyes on him.

\---

They were seated in an L-shaped booth at a small Italian restaurant. It was cozy and a little dark, but unassuming. Jars of crisp breadsticks stood on red-and-white checkered tablecloths, and little red candle jars flickered with candlelight.

The waitress was a bit too friendly to Steve. She had looked at him appraisingly when they were seated. Peggy swore she was not imagining things when she saw the waitress's eyes check his left hand for a ring. When she returned, she had leaned over him, putting her hand on his arm as she asked for his drink order.

Peggy bristled. Here we go, she thought. Would they never be able to go out in public without this sort of thing? And it was likely Steve did not even notice. Peggy shifted uncomfortably in her seat, trying to push down the hot flash of jealousy she felt; it was not her best trait.

To her surprise, Steve did seem to notice the waitress' intentions. As she moved to place her hand on his arm, he had deftly slid out from under her hand and closer to Peggy. He put one arm around her and took her hand in his. "Do you know who she reminds me of, sweetheart?" he asked Peggy, rather theatrically. She shook her head. "Can't you see it? Last week at our engagement party, you met my cousin Irmengard, didn't you? Isn't she the spitting image of her, without the, you know, thing on her face?" "Yes, I can see it now," Peggy replied, playing along and trying not to enjoy it too much. The waitress was taken aback. "Oh, that's...interesting. I...what would you like to drink?" They gave their orders and she scurried away, not interested in lingering over Steve anymore.

"I'm sorry about putting you on the spot like that," Steve told her sheepishly. "I just didn't want her to get the wrong idea."

"About what?"

"About us." He blushed. "I mean, I just wanted to make it clear that I'm not available."

"How in the world did you come up with the name Irmengard?"

"I have no idea," he chuckled. "It was the first thing that popped into my head."

"Interesting. What other daft ideas do you have floating around in there?"

"I don't know," he said, smiling and shrugging. "I guess you'll just have to stick around and find out."

"I guess I will, then," she replied, smiling back.

They turned their attention to the menu. The waitress returned with their drinks and took their dinner orders. She was very professional, but seemed eager to leave the table.

"Speaking of names, have you ever had any nicknames besides Peggy?"

"Let's see, none that I care for, or that were used by anyone that I care for. My brother always called me Peggy. My parents always used Margaret. They named me after my great-grandmother."

"Do you know what 'Margaret' means?"

"Hmm... I think I looked it up one time, but I don't remember."

"If I remember right, it's from the Greek word for 'pearl'."

"That's not bad, I suppose."

"Not bad? It's a lovely name!" He protested, reaching for her hand.

It was her turn to blush. "What does Steven mean?" She asked quickly.

" 'Crown,' also from Greek."

"I think Steven's a lovely name, too," she responded, squeezing his hand.

  
\---

Their dinner plates had just been cleared when he took a carefully folded piece of paper out of the breast pocket of his suit jacket. He smoothed it out on the table in front of him. On it, he had copied the times and locations of various movies playing around the city so she could pick. It was adorable.

He slid the list over to her, but of course she didn't recognize any of the titles. "Hmm," she said as she looked over the list. "I haven't really kept up with what's showing lately." That was an understatement.

"I did see one interesting possibility. Do you like old movies, like 40s old?"

She glanced up at him and nodded, then returned to staring at the list.

"Have you seen _The Big Sleep_?" She shook her head and he continued. "It's playing at a theatre that shows old movies.". He pointed it out on the list. "Have you seen _The Maltese Falcon_? If you liked that, you'll probably like this. It's the same kind of film noir atmosphere."

"I did like _The Maltese Falcon_. But it sounds like you've seen this one already. Are you sure you don't mind seeing it again?"

"Not at all. I like seeing movies more than once. This one also has a kind of complicated plot that makes me want to see it again. And I'd love to get your take on it."

"Well, it's settled then."

  
\---

As they settled into their seats in the theatre, Peggy turned and smiled at Steve. She had often wanted to spend an evening going to the movies like this. The lights went down and she was acutely aware of him sitting so close to her in the dark. Their knees were almost touching. She tried to concentrate on the film, which really was excellent.

After a while, she reached over to take his hand. A little while after that, he let go of her hand, to her disappointment, but then put his arm around her shoulder. She leaned her head on his chest, perfectly content to stay like that forever.

  
\---

Heading into work Monday morning, she reviewed the weekend with satisfaction. The rest of the date had gone similarly well, ending with a few breathless kisses in front of her apartment.

She had seen Steve twice more over the weekend. On Saturday, they had a long brunch and dissected the movie from every angle. She was lucky that she had had plenty of practice during the war at simultaneously swooning over Steve and paying attention to important details; otherwise she would not have been able to discuss the film at all. On Sunday, they spent the rainy afternoon at a bookstore and had an early dinner together.

Arriving at her work, Peggy found a small box sitting on her desk, tucked inconspicuously next to her pencil cup. She opened it to find a single pearl hanging from a simple gold chain. A tiny, carefully written note was inside the box as well. "So you don't forget what your name means again. -S," read the neat handwriting. She put it on immediately. With a desk job, she thought, it couldn't hurt to wear jewelry regularly again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peggy is wearing a classic Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress. You can see a photo and read about it here:  
> http://www.huffingtonpost.com/amanda-christine-miller/diane-von-furstenberg-on-_b_81590.html
> 
> And here:  
> http://blog.fidmmuseum.org/museum/2011/01/diane-von-furstenberg-c-1976.html


	4. I love the nightlife, I love to boogie

Work was depressingly familiar. A desk job in which she mostly filed reports. In the current Cold War era, she was an East German specialist who analyzed and summarized intelligence, probably chosen for her abilities in German. The various area specialists turned these reports into her supervisor, Jack Thompson, who in turn analyzed and summarized them for higher-ups. Thompson was annoying as ever, but she didn't actually deal with him much beyond weekly meetings at which all of the analysts were present.

Although it was somewhat dull, it was a good type of work for her to do in her current situation. It gave her plenty of time to digest her new surroundings and plenty of free time, actually. She worked 9-5 with an hour for lunch. The rest of her time was her own. It was the first time in her career when she could leave her work at the office; she practically felt like she was on vacation.

The second reason that her undemanding work life suited her was harder for her to admit, even to herself. Her head was full of Steve and nothing else. They saw each other almost every day, sometimes twice. Dinners, lunches, coffee breaks. Movies, museums, picnics. He was charming, earnest, and had apparently completely fallen for her. It slowly dawned on her that he was very carefully courting her, in the old-fashioned sense of the word.

He was punctual, unfailingly polite, and solicitous to a fault. He turned up at her door for every date freshly showered, dressed up just enough to show he was trying to impress her. He didn't smoke, didn't curse, and didn't drink beyond a glass of wine or beer with dinner. He took pains to think up inventive dates, listened raptly to everything she said, and talked exactly the right amount himself. He asked questions and remembered her comments, stories, likes and dislikes. Everything he said and did showed his good judgment and taste. He held her hand, placed his hand gently on the small of her back from time to time, and kissed her passionately at the end of each date. Enough to show that he was definitely interested in her, but no more. Never pushing an inch beyond what was strictly proper. In short, he was absolutely perfect, and it was both everything that she had ever wanted and was driving her absolutely mad.

She had trouble articulating what was wrong at first. What did she want, what had she longed for over the last year, for several years, if not this? Time together in a world that was not at war, where everyone was not watching their reactions to each other. She slowly started to realize that it was the very ideal quality of him that was bothering her. Their previous relationship had been intense, raw, and sometimes difficult, but never perfect. He had been so tongue-tied and unsure of himself before the serum, with an slight undercurrent of bitterness. After, he had initially resigned himself to being a performing monkey with a more pronounced undercurrent of self-pity. When he had finally come into his own, he still had never made a move on her, which had been its own kind of frustration.

What she really wanted from him right now was a continuation of their imperfect relationship. Months had passed, and they were past the polite, getting-to-know-you stage of their relationship. She was ready to have serious conversations with him, but the things she most wanted to say were off-limits. She wanted to tell him how much she had missed him. She wanted to weep into his shoulder over her loneliness the last year. And even though she knew it was brutally unfair, she wanted to rage at him for putting the plane into the ice, for leaving her alone. She knew it was irrational and even ungrateful to whatever power had given them this chance, but she wanted _her_ Steve, not this perfect, untroubled version.

She wanted to see that he wasn't perfect, that he could make mistakes, lose control, say too much or too little, get fresh with her, anything.

And yet, and yet...

He was her Steve in so many ways, exactly as she remembered. And in ways that she had not remembered.

Always the gentleman, Steve opened every door, always walked on her outside closer to the street, and pulled out every chair. She couldn't sneeze without him producing a handkerchief; she couldn't rub her arms without him asking her if she was cold and offering her his jacket.

She hadn't forgotten these little courtesies; he had always been polite to a fault. What she had forgotten was the little satisfied expression on his face every time he did one of those things, as if he were the one being indulged.

So she resigned herself to the situation. He was still the man she had known in essentials, and in a million tiny details. He was a little too perfect, too controlled, too careful. But she knew how to be grateful to be with him, to be able to wake up in the morning without the terrible weight of losing him pressing on her chest.

Just when she thought she might go crazy from thinking herself in circles, some unexpected relief arrived in the form of a phone call. She was just finishing the crossword when the phone rang. She answered cautiously but hopefully; the only people who ever called her were Steve or companies trying to sell something. "Hello?" She said tentatively, bracing herself to have to politely but firmly tell someone that she wasn't interested in whatever they were hawking. Why hadn't anyone invented a way to tell who was calling before you picked up yet?

"English!" Angie's voice said enthusiastically back at her. "I've been gone two months and all you have to say is hello?"

"Angie!" She replied, genuinely enthused to encounter a friend. She had thought that Angie was not part of this reality but was happy to be proven wrong.

"Can't wait to see you," Angie continued "I've got so much to tell you about the tour. What's new with you?"

"Not much," Peggy lied. "I'll tell you about it in person."

***

She was not sure she could recall the precise sequence of events that had allowed Angie to convince her to go out "disco dancing," as she called it. She was, however, certain that it was one of her worse decisions. The "disco" was oppressively hot and loud, and was somehow- improbably- too bright and too dark at the same time. People were writhing about in what she assumed passed for dancing these days. The floor, which lit up, was interesting, she had to admit. She made the best of it for Angie's sake; she was so enthusiastic that Peggy didn't have the heart to disappoint her. She definitely needed a break, though.

She left Angie dancing with some of her actor friends she had run into and headed for the bar. Pushing her way through, she was able to yell "whiskey, neat" into the ear of the bartender. She hoped he had heard her, but quite frankly, she would drink anything alcoholic set in front of her at this point. The man on her left turned to face her. He had a mustache and tinted gold-rimmed glasses. His shirt was unbuttoned to halfway down his chest, and his shirt collar was ridiculously long. "Hey baby," he slurred, "where are you from?"

"I'm from 1946," she replied crisply, "I'm a time traveler." Sometimes the simplest answer was the best.

"Groovy," he replied, his eyes unfocused, as he turned back to his drink.

She downed her whiskey the moment it arrived; it was time to go.

.***

As they slid into a booth at an all-night diner for coffee, Peggy got a better look at 70s Angie. Her hair was long, parted down the middle, with feathered bangs. She was wearing an alarming amount of sparkly blue eyeshadow. Peggy was not as put off by the fashion of the times as she had been initially,

"So, English, I take it you have some man trouble. You have that look about you. Tell me everything."

"Well, it's not exactly man trouble, it's--"

"Woman trouble? Child trouble?" Angie joked. Then she suddenly gasped, another idea occurring to her. "Oh my God, Peggy, are you pregnant?"

"No, I--"

"Don't worry, I'll help you raise it!"

"Angie, Angie, slow down. I'm not pregnant. And I did meet someone, so I suppose you could call it 'man trouble.' "

So Peggy did. She told the story starting from when she had run into Steve at the bar that night. She talked about their dates and about all of the things she liked about him. She consciously tried to keep to the facts and not embellish too much about how she felt about him. Nevertheless, when she had finished, Angie's reaction told Peggy that she had read between the lines.

"Wow. English, I have never seen you so head over heels about a man. I've never seen you head over heels about anything, come to think of it. You know what you're doing? You're swooning. Positively swooning. Never thought I'd live to see the day."

"I'm not swooning," Peggy contested. "I'm interested in him, of course, but--"

"Nope. I've seen this look before, unfortunately usually in the mirror. You've got a real bad case. It's a full-blown swoon. Do you have a fainting couch? If not, you should think about getting one," she added, clearly pleased with herself for that line. "So the question now is, what's the problem?"

"Well, there's nothing precisely wrong,..."

"Buuuuut," Angie interjected in a leading tone.

"But he reminds me terribly of an old boyfriend, and sometimes I'm worried that I think too much about the old boyfriend when I'm with him." It wasn't exactly the truth, but it was as close as she was likely to get.

"And how serious were you with this old boyfriend?"

"Not very, at least not officially."

"And why not?"

It was a good question.

Why hadn't they ever taken their relationship further during the war? It was a question she had examined exhaustively and exhaustingly from every angle. Sometimes she blamed him. After all, she had professed her interest in him that night in the red dress, and he had responded with...exactly nothing. But had she really given him a chance? She had declared her intention to dance after "all this was over." She hadn't necessarily meant that so literally, but maybe he had taken it that way. She had also lost her nerve to an extent after she said it; when he didn't immediately say anything, she had quickly reminded him of his meeting with Howard in the morning, turned on her heel, and escaped.

And although she thought that she had made it clear how she felt about him, she hadn't wanted to conduct a relationship with him in full view of everyone they worked with. When she went into work, she wore a persona that was the toughest version of herself she could muster. She had not wanted their relationship to endanger the position that she had fought so hard for. She did not want to be known as Captain America's girlfriend. Little good it had done her. After the war, exactly that had been thrown in her face anyway.

But the real reason she had waited was that she, like so many others, had begun to think he was invincible. She had thought they would have time for a relationship after the war. She was wrong.

"We worked together for several years, during a difficult time, and it was complicated. We had planned to wait on taking the relationship farther until we...found other jobs. But then he...passed away."

"I'm so sorry," Angie said with feeling, squeezing her hand.

Angie really was a treasure of a friend. "So what do you think?" Peggy asked.

"This old boyfriend is out of the picture, sadly, so it's not like you can get in touch with him. So it seems to me that the only question is whether you want to be with this man right now, or whether you'd rather be alone. I think it's really that simple."

"Well when you put it like that...I guess it is simple."

"Problem solved. Got any other troubles? And when are you going to introduce me?"

 


	5. Our love is here to stay

Peggy spread her dress out on the bed appraisingly. It would do quite well, she thought, even though it wasn't red. When Steve had asked her last week if she'd be interested in going dancing on Friday, proper dancing, with a big band, she had been taken aback, but it was by far the best idea for spending an evening that she had ever heard.

Since much of the music would be from the 40s, she had taken the opportunity to find a vintage dress and to do herself up the way she still felt most comfortable. She had been styling her hair more loosely, in keeping with the times, but now she wore it as she had during the war, down but with subtle victory rolls on the sides. 

She had been hoping to find a red dress that had a full enough skirt for dancing, but her choices were limited by the selection available at the vintage shops she visited. She finally settled on a navy blue dress with a white floral pattern. It had a nice full skirt for dancing, and a cutout just above the bust line that would show off her cleavage. She decided to accessorize it with a red belt and red shoes. When she surveyed herself in the mirror, she was quite pleased with the color scheme and the overall effect.

When he finally knocked at the door, she rushed to open it. She was surprised to see that he was wearing his dress uniform, but not surprised at how good he looked in it. He had a small bouquet of flowers in his hand. He stood in the open doorway, just staring at her. "Peggy, you look...you're..." unable to finish his sentence, he finally stepped towards her. He mindlessly set the flowers on the small table next to the door. Putting his hands on her neck and his thumbs on cheeks, he kissed her desperately, over and over. She melted into him. He had never kissed her like that before, and she liked it. A lot.

Finally pulling away slightly, but keeping his arms wrapped around her waist, he pressed his forehead to hers. "I didn't know you'd be...that you'd dress so period appropriately," he said. "It really suits you." 

"If that's your reaction, I could dress like this all the time." 

"I'm afraid I've ruined your lipstick." 

"Yes, I think you might be wearing more of it than I am just now." She smiled. 

He pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket to wipe it off. As he lifted the cloth to his face, she stopped his hand, taking it from him. 

His passionate reaction had emboldened her. She brought her other hand up to hold his face steady. 

"There's some here," she said, tracing the corner of his mouth with her fingertip, then wiping it with the handkerchief. "And here," she continued, trailing her bare fingertip across his lower lip, excruciatingly slowly, her touch feather-light. "That's better," she said, her voice low and thick.

He parted his lips slightly. His eyes were half-closed, his breathing shallow. She traced her fingertip across his upper lip. That was as far as she got before he kissed her again, hungry for her. He kissed her open mouthed, tasting her lips, one hand tangled in her hair, the other tight around her waist, until she was breathless. She responded eagerly. Only the prospect of their long-delayed evening of dancing kept her from trying to take him to bed on the spot.

 

He took hold of the hand that was still holding his handkerchief. "I think maybe I should wipe my face off this time." Peggy didn't try to hide her disappointment. "If you touch me like that again," he continued, his voice low, "I don't think we'll be leaving this apartment tonight."

"So it's like that, is it?" she replied, her voice equally low.

"Yes, it's like that." 

"I rather like the sound of that," she whispered, pressing her lips CDs just below his ear.

"So do I. But I've waited much too long to take you dancing."

Peggy found that she couldn't argue with that. 

***

The ballroom was large and dimly lit. The dance floor was surrounded by round tables, must of them small with little lamps in the center of each. They found a table, but Steve didn't sit down.

"Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back." He made a beeline for the bandstand. The band was on a break. It was just the right amount of crowded. She saw him engaged in a discussion with one of the musicians. Steve gestured to her and the man looked over and smiled at her. She could tell Steve was thanking him and the man clapped him on the back. He came back over to the table and sat down, moving the chair so that he was close to her. 

"What are you up to?" She asked when he returned to the table.

"I was just requesting a song for when the break's over." He looked nervous and excited, almost giddy. It was easy to recognize because it mirrored how she felt.

"You seemed to know the musician. Do you come here often?"

"Is that a pickup line?"

Peggy scoffed. "If it were, you would know. You wouldn't be able to withstand it."

"Ok, give me your best line. Come on," he said, gesturing with his fingers hooked. 

"Are you ready?"

"Yes." 

"Are you sure?"

"You're stalling. I don't even think you have a pickup line." 

"Oh I have one. I just don't want to be responsible for the consequences if you faint. Now, are you sitting down?"

"Yes, I'm sitting down," he laughed.

"All right then, are you ready?"

"Ready."

She cupped his face with her hand and gazed into his eyes. Dropping her voice an octave, she said "I don't think I've ever seen eyes that color before."

His eyes fluttered shut and he let out a sigh. He covered her hand with his, holding it to his cheek for a long moment. Finally he removed her hand from his cheek and kissed her palm, then lowered both their hands, still holding hers firmly in his own.

He slowly opened his eyes. "That had absolutely no effect on me," He said, trying not to crack a smile, but failing.

She had started to protest when he continued, "...except for the fact that my heart stopped and I don't remember my own name." 

"It's Steve," she offered helpfully.

"Thanks."

She smiled. "It's a good thing that you were sitting down." 

"Yes. But I'm still not sure if that was fair, touching my face. You wouldn't usually be able to do that with someone you don't know. The line has to work on its own."

"Would you like me to try again and I'll keep my hands to myself?"

"Absolutely. But I think the band might be finishing their break," he said, glancing over to the stage. "We'll have to experiment further later."

He stood and offered her his hand. She took it and they made their way to the edge of the dance floor, weaving among the tables. When they reached the dance floor and faced each other, he looked nervous. 

She put her hand on his shoulder. Surprisingly she was nervous too. They had danced the night that she had first found herself in the 70s, but this was different. Going dancing for the evening was just like the date that they had never had, maybe too much like it. Her train of thought was interrupted when he put his hand on her hip and slowly slid it around to the small of her back. It was an unnecessary amount of contact, and she loved it. He took her other hand in his and smiled at her. 

It was finally time for their dance.

The music started; she was anxious to know what song he had requested.

It's very clear  
Our love is here to stay  
Not for a year  
But ever and a day

The radio, and the telephone  
And the movies that we know  
May just be passing fancies  
And in time may go

But, oh, my dear  
Our love is here to stay  
Together we're  
Going a long, long way

He was looking down at her, his love for her written all over his face. She imagined she was looking at him in much the same way. He closed his eyes and bent his head so they were dancing cheek to cheek and pulled her closer.

In time the Rockies may tumble  
Gibraltar may crumble  
They're only made of clay  
But, our love is here  
To stay

The song came to an end. He pulled away from her ever so slightly so he could see her face. "Did you like the song I picked?" he asked. 

She reached up to touch his cheek. "Yes, it was perfect." 

"I meant every word." 

She wanted to tell him that she loved him, too, but she couldn't quite get the words out. It was all just so overwhelming. Instead, she pulled him down for a kiss.

They danced for hours. Sometimes really swinging until they were out of breath, sometimes slowly but with a proper amount of space between them, sometimes literally cheek to cheek, and sometimes pressed together and barely moving to the music. She had never spent such a long period of time in so much physical contact with him, and it was going straight to her head. 

 

***

One of the slow songs began, and he pressed her close to him. Peggy laid her head on his chest. They weren't really even dancing, just swaying to the music. 

Every time we say goodbye  
I die a little  
Every time we say goodbye  
I wonder why a little  
The gods above me who must be in the know  
Think so little of me  
They allow you to go

Peggy wished she hadn't been listening to the words. She felt suddenly melancholy. As happy as she had been the last few months, and as perfect as tonight was, the grief of losing him was still just under the surface and appeared at unexpected moments.

She told herself she was not going to cry, not going to ruin this perfect evening. She hadn't moved or given any indication that she was upset, but nevertheless he stopped, pulled a little away from her, and lifted her chin up so that he could see her face. "What's wrong?" he asked, concerned. 

"It's just that this song makes me a little sad."

"Would you like to take a break?"

She nodded and they went outside. Her mood improved immediately, turning playful. 

"So you've been holding out on me, Captain," she said. 

"What do you mean?"

"I had no idea you could dance so well."

"The truth is, I've only just learned. I started taking lessons right after we met in that bar. I told you I've wanted to take you dancing for a long time," he said, fixing her with an ardent look.

She could hear the music faintly, even from outside. The song had changed; it was a tango now. She had been thinking about the way he had kissed her in her apartment, and once she had started thinking about it, she couldn't stop. She threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him recklessly, one kiss becoming another without interruption.

***

In the cab on the way home, he put his arm around her, and she rested her head on his chest. It had started to rain, and she was listening to the sound of the raindrops on the roof. It was after midnight, and she was exhausted. Over the course of the evening, Peggy had worked out a number of intricate plans for seducing him once they got back to her apartment. But it wouldn't be tonight. She was just too tired, and she wanted to be fresh and alert, to savor every moment. "Another night, soon," was the last thought she formed before she drifted off to sleep to the sound of the cab moving over the empty, wet streets.

Peggy was solidly asleep when the cab stopped in front of her apartment building. Steve had tried to rouse her. "Peggy?" he said, speaking loud enough to wake her, but hopefully quietly enough not to startle her. "Steve," was all she had said in reply, curling around him more closely. He could have tried harder to wake her up, but he really didn't want to.

Instead, he fished her keys out of her handbag, pulled her legs over his so that she was sitting on his lap, and carefully carried her out of the cab and all the way to her bedroom. 

He deposited her gently on her bed, pulled a blanket over her, and leaned down to kiss her goodnight. 

"Okay, Peggy, I'm going to leave now," he whispered, touching her cheek. 

"No," she said, her voice sleepy and her eyes still closed, "Stay." 

"All right," he said, surprising himself at how quickly he agreed. It might have surprised Peggy too, if she hadn't been half-asleep. 

"Good night, then, sweetheart," he said, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "I'll be on the couch if you need anything." 

"No couch. Here," she murmured, patting the empty side of the bed. 

Again, he found he had no will to refuse her artless need to be close to him. Not that he even wanted to refuse; he was just too used to denying himself what he wanted. He took off his jacket, tie, and dress shirt, and laid them neatly over a chair. He slipped off his shoes and lay down next to her. 

She reached over and pulled his arm around her. "Good night," was all she got out before falling into a deep, contented sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist of songs available on YouTube: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/bitememarvelcanon
> 
>  
> 
> Peggy's hair and outfit photos available here:  
> https://bitememarvelcanon.tumblr.com/post/150880062654/three-photos-to-accompany-chapter-5-of-my-fic


	6. Oh what a night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains smut. This is your only warning!

Peggy pulled the heavy garment bag out of her closet and draped it over an armchair with a sigh. She was certainly having a busy weekend. She unzipped the bag to reveal a pile of scarlet satin. She had never seen anything like this dress. It was strapless with a swath of fabric beautifully twisted across the bust line. The full skirt was pleated with extravagant yards of fabric, that would have been enough to make several dresses during the war. It was a shame she had to waste it on Jack Thompson. 

He had come to her desk on the previous Monday just as she was finishing a phone call.

"Looks like it's your lucky week, Marge. We're going on a date."

She gave him a deadly stare. "That's hardly what I'd call luck," she replied dryly.

As it turned out, this was Thompson's way of telling her that he needed her to accompany him to a formal reception on the following Saturday. He wanted her candid assessment of various diplomatic and military personnel, and he needed someone who spoke fluent German. 

And so Peggy had to face the prospect of several hours in the company of Jack Thompson, on top of working on the weekend. It was quite a contrast, going from an evening with the man she wanted to spend all her time with to an evening with a man she'd rather not spend any time with.

Her night of dancing with Steve had been utterly perfect, and waking up to him in her bed this morning was sheer bliss. She hoped to repeat that experience again soon, and not fully dressed.

After Thompson had told her it was a black tie reception, she had looked through her closet for something to wear. She had found exactly one formal dress; it was stunning. She didn't really want to look stunning while trailing Thompson around, but she certainly wasn't going shopping to find something else. She slipped into the dress only to find that her strapless bra showed over the edge. She looked at the elaborate internal corsetry of the bodice; could she wear it without a bra? It seemed scandalous, but she tried it out and checked herself in the mirror from every angle. It would have to do. 

She did her everyday makeup, and pinned her hair up into a simple twist. For jewelry, she wore only the simple single pearl necklace that Steve had given her. She had spent the afternoon with him and was especially resentful that she couldn't spend the evening with him. She had told him that she had to work a reception with Thompson and had promised to call him when she got in. It had better be an early night.

***

"I need a drink," Peggy remarked, after one particularly long and dull exchange with an attaché who reeked of cigarettes and bourbon. 

"Great, get me a Harvey Wallbanger," Thompson replied.

Peggy sighed: some things never changed. She headed for the bar. 

As the bartender made Thompson's drink and poured her a glass of champagne, someone came up next to Peggy. Someone tall, and blond, and in a dress uniform. "What are you doing here?" she asked. 

"What are you doing here?" Steve countered.

"I asked you first," she hissed.

"Phillips was invited to this too, but he thought he couldn't make it. He got back into town earlier than he expected and called me. Since I didn't have any plans, I agreed. I didn't even realize it was the same reception you were going to until I saw you here. I thought you said you were working."

"I am," she replied, as she saw Thompson motioning to her from across the room. "I'm sorry that I can't chat. I'll call you later tonight like I said."

Steve lingered at the bar for a few more minutes as he watched her go back to Thompson. He saw her laughing and smiling, talking to some diplomat. Thompson put his hand on the small of her back. She leaned in to whisper in his ear, smiling at him. Steve gritted his teeth. Phillips came over to him with someone he wanted to introduce him to, cutting off his view of Peggy. 

Peggy had just handed Thompson his drink when he put his free hand on the small of her back. Peggy leaned closer to him.

"Do that again and you'll be leaving here on a stretcher," she said, smiling sweetly. He quickly removed his hand. She was having enough trouble concentrating on the guests without his hijinks. 

She was acutely aware of where Steve was in the room at all times and swore she could feel his eyes on her when she wasn't looking. She tried not to look at him, but there was quite a bit of downtime at this particular engagement as Thompson droned on about himself to various men of influence, and one's mind did wander. It wandered to his lips and what it would be like to kiss them again or even bite them. It wandered to his hands and what they would feel like all over her body. She was running her index finger absently around the rim of her champagne glass as she imagined some truly scandalous scenarios when she saw a tall blonde approach him and chat him up. Her dress was slit ridiculously high up her leg, and she was positively fawning over him. 

Seeing that woman put her hand on his arm had jolted her out of her pleasant fantasies. Her face felt hot with anger. Well, she supposed she was allowed a fault or two. And her two weaknesses, Steve and a jealous temper, happened to coincide in this case.

 

***

"Aren't you going to invite me up for a drink?" Thompson asked her as the car pulled up in front of her apartment building.

"Certainly not."

"Why not, I'm sure you've had plenty of your bosses over to your place."

"And I'm sure you've had plenty of your coworkers tell you to go to hell," she snapped back as she got out of the car. 

"You don't know what you're missing, Carter. And I'll want that report on Monday."

She would have slammed the car door shut, but she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much what he said bothered her.

As soon as she got to her apartment, she had settled down at her desk with some tea to take notes for her report while it was still fresh in her mind. She had barely started when there was a knock at the door. Bloody hell, couldn't Thompson take a hint?

She opened the door to see Steve, to her surprise. He didn't wait for an invitation; he stormed in. "You said you had to work tonight," he said accusingly.

"Good evening to you, too." When he didn't reply, she continued "Yes, I said I had to work tonight, and I did. I told you I had to go to a reception with Thompson, and that's where I was."

"But you didn't say that it would be...that you'd be dressed like...that," he said, gesturing towards her gown.

"And what's wrong with the way I'm dressed, precisely?"

"Nothing. If it's for a date, which is what it looked like you were on."

"It wasn't a date. It was work."

"Then why did he put his hand on your back?"

"Because he's an ass. And I told him in no uncertain terms that if he wanted to keep his hand, he wouldn't do it a second time." With effort, she had kept her tone calm. But underneath she was furious. Here he was calling her out for nothing, when he was the one in the wrong. "Not that I owe you any kind of an explanation," she said, raising her voice, "I can't believe that you'd insinuate that I'd sleep with my boss."

She wanted to punch someone, or something. She actually stamped her foot in frustration, then snatched up her mug of tea and threw it as hard as she could against the wall, shattering it.

Steve had stepped out of the way to avoid the shower of tea that had reached a surprising amount of the room. "Peggy, I--"

For a minute she thought she could refrain from saying it, but she couldn't. "And if we're discussing who was touching whom, you certainly seemed to be enjoying yourself," she said acidly. 

"What are you talking about?"

"That blonde. She was all over you just like Private--your own private escort. And you seemed to quite relish the attention."

"Are you kidding me? I couldn't see anything in there but you. You with Thompson, laughing, smiling, his hand on your back. And I would never imply that you were sleeping with him, just that he was taking liberties with you. And I couldn't even talk to you. It was pure torture. Just talking about it makes my blood boil. I wanted to rip that s.o.b. in half. I still do. I know I probably sound like a possessive jerk to you and I'm sorry if --"

Whatever he had been about to say to defend himself was cut off by Peggy's passionate kiss. She pressed her mouth hard to his, and he responded with equal vehemence. They finally parted, breathless and staring at each other. 

"Don't be ridiculous. I couldn't ever be interested in Jack Thompson. Besides, I've been in love with someone else for a long time." She reached up, taking his face in her hands. "Always you, and only you." He seemed overwhelmed, just looking at her. "I love you, Steve." She kissed him.

"I love you," he said after the kiss. "Always you, and only you." She knew, of course, that he loved her, and he had practically said as much last night after that first song. But it felt much different to hear him actually say the words. It was the most beautiful, perfect sentence she had ever heard.

They kissed again, then he looked down at her sheepishly and asked, "So is the fight over?"

"Yes, it's over."

He was just staring at her. They were standing very close, but not touching. The energy between them had changed, although she couldn't say exactly when or how. 

But she did know that this time, he really wasn't leaving her apartment tonight. 

"You know, I haven't had the chance to tell you how beautiful you look tonight," he finally said. 

"Do you like my dress?" she asked, breathing shallowly as she stared back at him. 

"The fabric is very nice," he said, as he raised his hand and trailed the tips of his fingers slowly across the top edge of the neckline where the dress just covered her breasts. His fingers had started on the fabric but soon he was touching her bare skin. 

It was the first time he had ever touched her like this, and for a moment, she was frozen, almost unable to believe it was happening. 

Her skin tingled where he had touched it; her heart was pounding in her chest.

"What else do you like?" she asked, forcing her voice to be steady.

He had dropped his hand to his side; they were still standing inches apart but not touching, their eyes locked on each other. He was silent for a while, then swallowed and said "Your skin." 

"Oh?" was all she could manage to get out. 

"Yes, I kept thinking about how soft it probably was."

"Why don't you find out?"

He bent his head and brushed his lips across her skin just above the neckline of her dress. "I'll have to check...every inch...to be sure." With each pause, he kissed his way across the top edge of her breasts where he had just touched her. Then he looked up at her, and she nodded, unable to get any words out. 

It was really, finally happening, and she hadn't even had to seduce him. She poured years of longing for him, and months of frustration into the kisses she gave him. He seemed just as eager and desperate as she was.

Slowly, experimentally, she ran her tongue across his lower lip, tasting him. He moaned into her mouth. Her tongue moved over his bottom lip again as he opened his mouth to hers. His hand moved up to cup her breast. His tongue tangled with hers as he moved his thumb back and forth over her nipple through the fabric of her dress. She made a helpless noise. She wanted him everywhere at once. 

He abruptly pulled the neckline of her dress down. He froze, his hand hovering so close to her breast that she could feel the heat from it, but not touching her. Apparently he had been expecting to expose her bra, but instead found himself confronted with her bare skin. He looked down, immediately back up, and then said "Oh God, Peggy, I'm ---" 

"Sorry?" she finished. "Don't be." She pressed his hand into her breast and kissed him wildly, devouring him. 

Eventually, he pulled away from her mouth to press soft kisses to her breasts, and then brushed his lips across her delicate skin. He paused for a long moment, burying his face in her cleavage and just breathing her in.

She bit down on her lip. It had been so long since anyone had touched her like this. With the small part of her brain that could still form thoughts, she noted that no one had actually ever touched her like this, with so much need and tenderness at the same time.

She wanted to pull him closer to her, wanted to undress him and let her hands roam over him, but in their current configuration, all she could do was run her fingernails through his hair and caress the back of his neck. "Steve," she sighed. He groaned and stood up to kiss her on the lips greedily. 

She slipped his jacket off and fumbled with his shirt buttons, desperate to feel his bare skin against hers. He helped her unbutton it, and quickly pulled off his undershirt, tossing both to the floor. His bare chest was as perfect as she remembered. She ran her hands over it slowly, lightly. His eyes were half-closed as she traced the planes of his chest. When she had explored him thoroughly with her hands, she pressed her soft breasts into the firm muscle, putting her arms around his neck.

With his longer arms, he easily reached around her and unzipped her dress. It pooled around her hips on the floor, standing up partially on its own due to the corset and full skirt. He easily lifted her free of the dress and carried her into the bedroom. She stood in front of him in only her panties, garter belt, and stockings. Rather than making him more passionate, the sight of her seemed to stop him cold. 

"My God, Peggy, you're even more beautiful than I imagined." He gave her a long slow kiss. 

"And you're overdressed," she replied. 

She slowly undid his belt, then locked eyes with him as she undid the fly of his trousers, agonizingly slowly, letting her hand linger over him as he groaned. Standing next to the bed, his fingers brushed the exposed skin of her thigh between her panties and the top hem of her stockings. She started to unhook her stocking from her garter belt, but he touched her hand. "Let me?" he asked.

He led her over to the bed and she sat down. He got down in front of her on one knee, stretching the length of her leg out over his thigh. He carefully unhooked the stocking. Then he encircled her thigh with both of his hands and slowly slid it off her leg, not breaking contact from her upper thigh all the way to her toes. 

He moved to her other leg, kissing her bare skin above the stocking, then again unhooking it and sliding it off her leg. He rose and she scooted back on the bed, lying back. She parted her legs and he slid his knee in between them. He pressed his bare chest to hers, bracing his arm so that his full weight wasn't on her. He was heavy and hot, but the weight of his body on her was just what she wanted. She arched up into him, desperate for pressure and friction. She was ready, so ready for him. But he had other ideas. 

He moved off of her, lying down on his side next to her. He took a breath to collect himself. 

"Turn over," he said, his voice low. It was a request, not a demand. 

She rolled onto her stomach and he lifted her hair up, then kissed the back of her neck and all the way down her back, enjoying the shivers it sent through her. He caressed the back of her legs, then pushed her gently onto her back.

True to his word, he took his time, exploring every inch of her body. He caressed and kissed her neck, her collarbone, her breasts. He ran his hands down her arms from her shoulders to her fingertips. He traced her curves from her breasts, to her small waist, to her full hips.

She took her time, too. She ran her hands over every part of his shoulders and chest; she kissed her way from his neck to his waist. She slid her hands under the back waistband of his shorts and pressed him 

They kissed and touched, delighting in each other. It might have been minutes or hours; Peggy only knew that she never wanted it to end.

He ran his hand along her inner thigh, breaking contact before he got to where she wanted it most, then repeated the gesture on the other side. She was moaning and arching her back. Finally, he stroked her once lightly over her silky panties. She moaned, long and loud. "Yes, yes, please," was all she could manage to say. 

Something snapped in him. He ripped off the silky fabric and leaned over her, touching her as he kissed her passionately. She guided his hand at first, showing him just where and how to touch her. He was just as she had known he would be, noticing her every reaction, learning what she liked. Before long, she was pressing his hand into her hard, yelling, her body straining as she came apart. When she came back to herself, she opened her eyes to see him lying next to her, staring at her, looking amazed and turned on at the same time. 

There was no time to luxuriate in the feeling; there was something else she wanted. She felt him through his shorts and ran her hand along his length. He made a strangled noise. She pulled his shorts down and he kicked them off. It was her turn to stare; he was perfect. She stroked him gently, and he closed his eyes. 

But that was not what either of them wanted, what they needed. She pulled him onto her and guided him in. Peggy had thought that she had known how badly she wanted him, but now she realized that she couldn't have longed for this feeling, because she had never had it. 

Being joined to him was overwhelming. She was stunned by the intensity of it, by the feeling of being home with him. She looked up at him, and he seemed similarly overcome. "Peggy," was all he could say, stroking her face, "Peggy." Slowly, he came back to himself and began to move. As it had been with her, it wasn't very long before he was straining, his entire body taut as he drove into her helplessly. He collapsed gently onto her as she wrapped her arms around him, kissing him over and over.

He lay down half on her and half next to her, stroking her cheek and staring at her with wonder. "I love you," he said, when he could manage to speak, thrilled that he could say it whenever he wanted. 

If it was possible, that sentence sounded even better the second time. Peggy's legs were weak and tingling all the way to her toes, and she was starting to feel sleepy. "I love you," she answered dreamily. She pulled the blanket up over them and nestled into him, and he wrapped both arms around her. His warm skin felt so good against hers. They were finally and completely together. And it had only taken three years, a few months, and time travel of an unknown an supernatural origin for it to happen. It was worth it, she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peggy's dress:  
> http://blog.fidmmuseum.org/museum/2013/04/christian-dior-new-york-evening-gown-c-1953-55.html
> 
> This is my first smut. I'm so proud. Just kidding, I'm mortified, but I did it anyway!


	7. Dream a little dream of me

Steve woke up from a deep sleep, disoriented for a moment. It was dark, the middle of the night. The room was unfamiliar. 

Then he realized where he was: he was in Peggy Carter's bed. 

It was such a glorious fact that he repeated it to himself: he was in Peggy Carter's bed. He mentally added more details, each better and more unbelievable than the last: he was in Peggy Carter's bed, with Peggy Carter, and they had been...intimate, and she had said she loved him. 

He sat up, the sheet pooling at his waist. He looked over at her in the darkness. She was restless, murmuring something in her sleep. He tried to remember whether it was supposed to be dangerous to wake someone up in the middle of a dream. He had just about decided he would go ahead and carefully try to wake her up when she turned her head, allowing him to make out her words more clearly. "Give me your coordinates..."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

She was repeating her side of their radio conversation right before he had crashed the Valkyrie, word for word.

She called his name once, twice. The third time was a scream.

She sat up, suddenly awake, tears forming in her eyes.

"I'm right here, Peggy," he said, trying to soothe her, wrapping his arms around her. "It was a nightmare. I'm right here. Everything's all right." He pulled her onto his lap so he could hold her closer and wiped the tears off her cheeks. She buried her face in his bare chest.

"I have these bad dreams sometimes," she explained. He wanted to be able to say that it wasn't real, but he knew that it was. Instead, he said the only thing he could think of that was true. "I love you. Everything's all right. I'm here with you and I'm not going anywhere." He stroked her hair, repeating variations of the same words until she seemed to relax a little in his arms.

After a while, she kissed him once on the cheek and moved to lie back down, still clutching his arm around her protectively.

He lay there, holding her, anxiously watching her breathe, hoping she would not have another nightmare. How often did she have them, he wondered. He knew he wouldn't be getting any more sleep that night. 

He had thought he knew what a broken heart felt like the last year, after they pulled him out of the ice. But seeing her wracked with grief over him was a new level of pain.

But that pain was mixed with elation. It was his Peggy, his best girl, not some alternate reality version of her. Steve simultaneously couldn't believe it and felt that he had known all along. After all the losses he had experienced, it was incomprehensible that she would be given back to him. 

Peggy Carter. She had occupied and preoccupied his thoughts since his first day of basic training. She had gone from a fantasy to a possibility, gone from his reason for living to the reason he wished he were dead.

When he found out she had died before he came out of the ice, he hadn't wanted to go on. He tried to, for her sake. He tried to be strong like she had been. He had found some semblance of a life with the Avengers, a purpose, friends. But Peggy Carter's shadow still lay over his life like a great black hole at the center. 

People had told him to move on, in one way or another. Natasha's way of telling him had been to suggest women he could date. He knew that everyone meant well, that they didn't want to see him miserable. They didn't understand that Peggy wasn't just someone he liked, someone he admired, someone he loved. She was all those things, but she was also more, something he was sure only came along once in a lifetime. 

She was someone who understood him so completely that, for the first time, he had felt that his existence on this earth couldn't be a mistake, not if there was another person who matched him so perfectly. 

If other people had experienced that, then they would understand that he would feel lonelier in a relationship than being on his own. If they hadn't experienced it, he doubted there was much he could do to explain it. You didn't move on from that. All you could do was endure. 

***

He didn't know exactly how he had been thrown back into the 70s. He had been on an op with Tony. He had touched the artifact they were trying to recover, some kind of stone, and there had been a white flash. He felt dizzy, and when he opened his eyes, he was in uniform at a bar, a half empty beer in front of him. He had sworn no one had been sitting next to him, but then someone had bumped into him. He apologized reflexively even though it wasn't his fault. Then she apologized. He had looked over at her and felt dizzy again, for a different reason. 

He hadn't known if this was real time travel, some kind of alternate universe, or some elaborate trick by Hydra. And he really didn't care at that moment, looking into her face again. If it was really her, he was going to do whatever he had to to be with her. If it was somehow not really her, some kind of trick, he would cherish the chance to pretend to be with her. Maybe it would make the reality he would eventually have to face a little more bearable.

She had looked at him like she knew him, but at the same time she seemed surprised. He had introduced himself, saying something about having met her before on a project and mentioning Phillips. He was taking a chance, but he hoped he had kept it vague enough to be plausible. He didn't care if it was reckless, if she had a completely different history with him in the 70s; he was hardly going to sit next to Peggy Carter and not talk to her. 

Luckily, she had gone along with it. She seemed happy to see him, but also strangely melancholy. He had surprised himself with his own boldness in asking her to dance, and he had been rewarded by her pressing her body into his. He breathed in the scent of her hair, felt her body molded to his, and he had felt faint and short of breath like he hadn't since before the serum. 

Then he had even kissed her goodnight. It had been even better than their first kiss; it was unhurried and sweet and heavy with the promise of more kisses.

He hadn't slept that first night either. He was giddy, not just at seeing her, but at already having held and kissed her. He had made more progress towards a relationship with her in the last two hours than he had in the two years he had known her during the war. Could it really have been this simple if he had done something besides stare at her back then? He really didn't want to think about it; he already had enough regrets where she was concerned. 

When he had found himself sitting next to her, his first impulse had been to kiss her, then propose. In battle his first impulse had saved his life many times, but in his dealings with Peggy his first impulse usually ended in disaster. He still couldn't explain what she did to him; he hadn't been entirely joking when he had said that he had forgotten his own name when she touched his cheek.

He needed to keep his head about him. He had a second chance with her, and he was determined to do everything right this time. He couldn't be too hesitant around her, or too forward. And he had to stay focused. It was when he allowed himself to become too distracted by her that he said or did stupid things. 

He hit on the idea of treating it like a mission. The key to any successful mission was planning, anticipating problems that might arise with the plan, and then more planning. So he started to work out some guidelines for himself: 

1\. Before any date was over, ask her out for the next one. This would help with being too hesitant around her. If she said yes, then continue. If she didn't want to get together that soon, then back off. That would take care of too forward. 

2\. No dumb staring. He had just stared at her enough for a lifetime already. This one might be trickier. Aside from the times they had eyed each other that were burned in his memory, he had also frequently stared at her when she wasn't looking at him, often transfixed by her perfect red lips. Her lips. How did she keep her lipstick so perfect all the time? The girls in the show that he had worked with always complained about their lipstick not lasting long enough, coming off on everything. How long would they have to kiss, he wondered, before her lipstick had worn off...Focus! This was exactly what he had to avoid. He vowed to keep himself honest by asking follow up questions about whatever she talked about. He couldn't let his mind wander too much if he concentrated on what she was saying. 

3\. Deflect any attention given to him by other women immediately. He still wasn't completely sure if she had shot at him because that private kissed him, or because of what he had said to her about Howard. He was sure, however, that he never wanted to repeat the experience. Peggy possibly had a jealous streak, and besides, it was just the right thing to do.

4\. Show her he was marriage material. Marriage meant domesticity, and domesticity meant cooking. He needed to figure out how to cook at least one decent meal. How hard could it be?

5\. Possibly most important: learn how to dance.

He was very glad none of the Avengers were here to see him doing this. There would have been an endless stream of questions, comments, suggestions, and jokes. Natasha would have been critiquing him. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" he could hear her asking. Barton would have cracked wise. Tony...God forbid that Tony Stark ever have the opportunity to comment on his love life. He refused to even imagine what Tony would say. 

Now that he had a plan, his other challenge was timing. He couldn't really trust his own judgment here, since he had known her for years, and spent another year missing her. It felt natural to him to be close to her already, but if she was from this time period and didn't remember him, he didn't want to scare her off. 

What was a reasonable amount of time before things got serious physically, and how long did you have to date someone before talking about marriage? He knew the 40s answer, but that wouldn't help him if she was from the 70s. And his knowledge of the 21st century was no help; as far as he could tell, dating, marriage, and living together were now tangled in a big mess that no one knew how to get out of.

He thought over all of the things he wanted to do with her now that he had the chance. More than anything, he wanted to take her dancing, real dancing for a whole evening. That gave him the inspiration for his timeline. He wouldn't think about taking the relationship to a more serious level until they had had their dance. It would probably take a couple of months. He pulled out the phone book to look for somewhere to take lessons.

At dawn he had headed into work to figure out where his desk was, and then hers, so he could appear to casually stop by later in the day. Then he walked around the city for a few hours, getting his bearings. It was interesting to see New York at a different point in time, although from what he had heard, the 1970s were not the city's finest hour. Then he returned to work at a normal time. He saw her a little ahead of him in the security line; for once, he seemed to be running in luck. 

He had asked her out on a real date that first day at work, and things had been gone smoothly since then. He had often thought he would have given anything, done anything to see her again for only a few moments. Now he had had months to spend with her, and it was even better than he had ever imagined. 

***

Peggy shifted from her side onto her back. He observed her closely, but she didn't show any signs of having another nightmare. With her shift in positions, his arm was stretched awkwardly across her chest. He moved it off of her, and since he still couldn't sleep, he decided to get out of bed. 

Being marooned in the 1970s wasn't so bad; in fact, it was the closest thing to a vacation he had ever had. He worked his somewhat dull desk job, and he could devote the rest of his time to Peggy. 

For the first time since he could remember, there wasn't a crisis. There wasn't a war. He wasn't Captain America, and he wasn't an Avenger. He was just...Steve Rogers. And that suited him just fine, although he did miss his shield a little.

He stretched and padded quietly over to an armchair. He wouldn't mind a sandwich, but he wasn't leaving the room while she was asleep and might have another nightmare. There was a stack of books next to the armchair; Peggy had always been an avid reader. He could make out the title of the book on the top of the stack, and of course it was a spy novel, Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. That had only been published a couple of years ago; she had certainly gotten caught up on contemporary culture over the last few months. 

***

Steve had suspected that Peggy might have come from the 40s from their first conversation. He had sworn he had seen surprise flash across her face for a moment when he mentioned the Dodgers not being in Brooklyn anymore.

Steve had seen more than his share of supernatural phenomena by now, enough to know that just about anything was possible. The Tesseract, the Chitauri, Loki's staff, other dimensions. If he had come from the future, then she might have come from the past. 

So he decided to start floating pop culture references starting from 1945 to see if she recognized them. He knew he had to do it right away; if she was from the 40s, she would be quickly bringing herself up to speed on things.

He started on their first date with her favorite movie. He knew she liked detective stories and that The Maltese Falcon was a particular favorite of hers. So he asked if she'd seen The Big Sleep, which had come out in August of 1946, another classic film noir also starring Humphrey Bogart. She had never heard of it.

He continued to throw things out for a while to see her reactions. Not too many references; it would seem odd. She failed every single try. As near as he could tell, her knowledge of history and popular culture ended sometime in 1946. Unless there was another explanation, like memory loss, then that's when she was from. But it had just been a suspicion until tonight, and there was no way he would have taken the chance of 

It was easy to think of things to mention, even without the internet. For the last year of his life, as he found out about all he had missed, he had thought about her experiencing all of those things without him. When Steve saw The Big Sleep, he knew she would have loved it. Had she gone and seen it in the theater? Was she alone, with a friend, with a man? He felt a twinge of jealousy at that thought, even though he didn't want her to be lonely. If she was alone, had she wished that he was there? He put himself through the same torture with every movie, every book, every last damn thing he had learned about the 70 years that he missed. When he listened to music, he found himself wondering if she had liked the song. Had she ever danced to it? Had she ever thought of him and their missed dance when she did? How long had she missed him: a year, five, ten, all of them?

 

***  
And all that had brought him to last night. Last night, when he had managed to break several of his rules simultaneously. He hadn't brushed off that woman fast enough, and then inadvertently insinuated that she was involved with Thompson, just like his stupid comment about Howard. His jealously had made him irrational. But somehow it had all worked out.

He allowed himself a few minutes to just think about it, to enjoy it, to relive it. There were no words to describe it. It was beyond anything that he had imagined, and he had imagined it a lot.

He had sometimes thought that people in the twenty-first century were obsessed with sex, or maybe they were just more open about it than people in the 40s. But now he wondered how anyone managed to get anything done when this was an available activity. Although he suspected that what he shared with Peggy was on a different level from the average experience.

Thinking about being with her, unfortunately, brought him right back to the nightmare he had just witnessed her having. He had known there was a chance she was from the past, but he hadn't known she would be so torn up by what had happened to him. She still carried herself like a queen by day, all confidence and competence and sass, but apparently it came at a cost. 

He realized that he had underestimated how much Peggy loved him. Of course he had seen the interview footage where she broke down when she was asked about his last words. Of course he knew that she loved him. But he also knew that she had gone on to live a full life. 

She was so strong, the strongest person he had ever met. On some level, he had thought that somehow she had handled it better than he had.

The room was changing from black to gray; it would be morning soon. He climbed back into bed, and she instinctively curled around him. He would have to figure out how he was going to tell her; he needed some more time to think it over. Would she be able to forgive him for the pain he had put her through, for not finding another way? He wasn't sure if he would ever be able to forgive himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear, in this story Steve was never reunited with an old Peggy after he was recovered. This is the only major canon divergence (prior to the time travel, of course).


	8. Chapter 8

Peggy slowly opened her eyes. Before she moved or stretched, the delicious memories of last night rushed over her. She turned her head slightly to the right to see him looking at her.

"Good morning," she said, stroking his stubbly cheek. 

"Good morning," he replied. There was something about the way he was looking at her, something different in his eyes. She leaned over to kiss him. Whatever she had seen in his eyes was in his kiss as well. It tasted like sadness...or regret? 

"What's wrong?" she asked. 

Nothing, he replied, looking away. He had always been a terrible liar. 

"Steve," she said sternly, "I can tell something's wrong." Maybe they had moved things along too fast, even though she had hardly been twisting his arm. "Do you regret what happened last night?"

"No, no, of course not," he said immediately, and very sincerely as far as she could tell. "Please don't think that I could ever regret anything that happens between us," he said, blushing adorably. He wanted to say that he'd like to repeat the experience as soon as possible, but he didn't feel like he could be that way with her until he had told her what he had discovered.

"It's just that I'm a little worried about you," he continued. "About that nightmare you had. You seemed really shaken up. He didn't mention how shaken up he had been, and still was. 

It was Peggy's turn to tell a partial truth. "I'm sorry to have worried you. It was nothing, really. Just a strange nightmare." 

"Do you have them a lot?"

"Sometimes."

"What are they about?"

"I don't know, just scary things. I don't even really remember that clearly," she lied.

***

Peggy was a little disappointed that he hadn't wanted to spend the whole day together. He had some flimsy excuse about errands that he had to run. She had been sure he wasn't lying when he said that he didn't regret sleeping together, which was a relief. But he was still keeping something from her.

Steve had invited her for dinner at his apartment. She wasn't expecting much; neither of them really knew how to cook. She dressed carefully, looking forward to having complete privacy with him. 

She wondered if he would ask her to spend the night.   
She hadn't expected what had happened between them to be quite so...intense. She had been with a man before, one that she had thought she loved. Later, when she had met Steve, she had found out what it really felt like to want someone, and to love someone. The first feeling had been the palest imitation of the real thing. She had never, however, considered that the same would be true of sex. What she had experienced with him was an order of magnitude different from what she had thought it would be, and she was eager to repeat the experience.

She had sometimes criticized the fact that people were so obsessed with sex. Everyone was so interested in who was doing what with whom. She hadn't even been able to work with Steve in the SSR without people speculating, even though their conduct had always been perfectly proper. Didn't they have anything else to fill their heads with?

But now she was forced to eat her words. She was obsessed with Steve, with the thought of touching him, smelling him, tasting him, just being next to him. After literal years of desiring him, and after two months of being close to him but having to maintain propriety and only holding hands or kissing, she was free to touch him anytime.

She put a negligee and toothbrush into her purse, then wondered what he would think when he saw that she had been planning a second night with him. What would he think when she pulled out something to sleep in? Would he be scandalized? Did she even care? She believed him when he said he didn't regret it, but maybe he didn't want to repeat it so soon. She took the negligee out, but left the toothbrush, thinking that carrying a toothbrush around could be passed off as an interest in dental hygiene. Then she put a less sexy nightgown in her bag, but the extra fabric was too bulky. Finally, she took everything back out. Damn him and his awkwardness; why did he have to make everything so complicated? Or maybe she was the one making it complicated; she didn't even know anymore.

***

She rang the doorbell, slightly nauseous with anticipation at seeing him again. The door opened almost immediately, and she was surprised to smell something delicious. He greeted her with a kiss and helped her off with her coat.

She saw that he had set the small table with a tablecloth and candles. She suddenly felt thoughtless that she had not brought a bottle of wine or something when he had clearly gone to so much trouble. It hadn't even occurred to her when she thought that they would probably be eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

"I didn't think to bring you anything," she said. 

"I didn't expect you to," he answered, smiling broadly.

He offered to get her a glass of wine and headed back into the kitchen. Unable to contain her curiosity, she followed him.

"What are you making?" 

"Roast chicken with potatoes and green beans."

"I didn't know you could cook."

"Well, I'm learning. You wouldn't have wanted to eat the first few chickens I roasted. It's a good thing I'm not a picky eater. And don't get too excited; this is the only thing I know how to make so far."

"How is it possible that you were still available when I met you?" she asked, wrapping her arms around him.

"I was just waiting for the right girl," he said, bending his head down to press his cheek to hers, and holding her more tightly.

***

After dinner, they settled down on the couch with slices of cake and coffee. Steve had gone to get his sketchbook, saying he had some newer drawings he wanted to show her.

She had seen his artwork before, of course. She carefully turned the pages from the beginning of the notebook, looking at drawings of the city, of places they'd been together, and several of her. "You're so talented," she sighed. "Not just technically, but there's real feeling in everything you draw, even if it's just a building. It's because you have such a good heart," she said, putting her hand on his chest and looking into his eyes. "It shows in everything you do," she said seriously. She felt a wave of emotion running through her. 

He put his arm around her, but looked down, not meeting her eyes. "Keep looking," he said. 

She turned the next page to see two more drawings of herself, one sitting down, and on the facing page, one standing. At first she was about to ask him when he had done them, and thank him for the very flattering portrayals of her, but then she took a closer look. In the first drawing, she was wearing her full SSR uniform, and in the second, she was in the dress that she had worn to see him in the pub that night when she told him she was waiting for the right partner. 

Tears sprang to her eyes. She looked over at him. To her surprise, he had tears in his eyes too.

"Steve?" was all she could say. The tears were streaming down her cheeks now. She couldn't speak.

It couldn't be...It was impossible. It was utterly unbelievable. She couldn't manage to say anything else, couldn't even react except to stare at him and continue crying.

He seemed distressed at her reaction. He had gotten off the couch at some point; she didn't remember when. He was half sitting on the coffee table so he could look her directly into her face. He crouched over her, and couldn't keep his hands still. First he was holding both her hands, then stroking her cheek, then rubbing her on the back reassuringly. "It's all right, Peggy. Everything's all right."

She slowly came out of her numbness. "Steve," she repeated, "my Steve?"

"Yes, it's me. I was small, and then I got the serum. Do you remember our ride in the car that day? You asked me if I'd ever been dancing. And I told you I was waiting for the right partner. His voice broke as he said it. We fought together. We lost each other when I put Schmidt's ship in the ice. Do you remember?"

She slowly came out of her numbness. She must have misunderstood him, she must have misheard. But the drawings-- "What did you say about a car?"

He seemed relieved that she was speaking again. He wasn't crying anymore; he seemed a little calmer. She detected more than a hint of his confident, military bearing when he repeated distinctly "I said that you were with me in the car on the way to get the serum." He paused to gauge her reaction, then continued, "Dr. Erskine's serum."

She stared at him. She wasn't sure what was going on, except that she must actually be mad. "That's not possible. The Steve Rogers that I knew was...lost when the Valkyrie went down." Even after all this time, she couldn't bring herself to say "died". 

He sighed. This was the next reveal that he had been dreading. "It's complicated. I know it sounds crazy, but I was in the ice, frozen but like in a coma, for almost 70 years. They found me in 2011. They revived me, and I've been living in that time until I was on a mission and touched some kind of an artifact. It brought me here."

"That's impossible. This must be some kind of a trick. You're not the same Steve."

"If it's a trick, it's certainly not mine. And for what reason? And what do you mean I'm not the same?" His tone had changed again, from calm and reassuring to agitated. 

"Well, you're not enhanced strong, you're just normal-person strong. I've watched you."

"Did it ever occur to you that I might have been careful not to act like I was enhanced since it apparently didn't happen in this timeline?"

"No," she answered curtly.

"Well, what would you like to me to do to prove it? Break something, bend something? Or you could stab me and we can watch the wound heal. I know you prefer shooting, but I'd just as soon not be shot at since my shield didn't make the trip with me. Jesus Christ Peggy!" He was clearly upset and raising his voice.

"You're cross with me!" she said, shocked at his change in tone.

"No, no I'm not. It's just wasn't the reaction I was expecting. I'm sorry. I've just had a lot more time to get used to the idea than you have. Since I came from another time, I knew that at it was possible that you had too, but you didn't think it was possible."

She stood up, smoothed her skirt, then sat back down again. She wasn't sure what she wanted to say or do.

"What else isn't the same?" he asked.

"You're so...sure of yourself. You never say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing."

"Well, I've grown up a little, I guess. And I've spent a year missing you and hating myself for losing you and for not spending every minute I could have when I had the chance. If God, science, or both was somehow giving me another chance with you, even if it was a different you, I was not going to make the same mistake twice." He was still agitated. "It was only last night, when you had that nightmare, that I knew for sure that it was you."

He stepped towards her, taking her face in his hands, and looked her in the eyes.

"But you can feel it, can't you? Can't you sense that it's me, now that I've told you? Don't you believe me? It's me, the man who fell for you the first moment he saw you when you knocked Hodge's lights out. The man you made me when you told me I was meant for more than being a circus monkey. The idiot who thought fondue was a sex act and who stared at you for two years without telling you he loved you."

At that moment, she did feel it. It still didn't make sense, not entirely. But if an artifact had brought her here, it could have brought him here as well. And she was starting to realize that everything that was different about him could either be a result of his careful subterfuge or of having changed over the course of the time they'd been apart. Perhaps she was different as well. Along with her gut feeling that it was him, there was the undeniable fact of all of the details of their relationship that only he could know. 

"I do feel it," she said. "I just never thought--" she put her arms around him, burying her head in neck, breathing in his scent. She never thought she would see him alive again, not in this lifetime. "I love you, darling."

***

The next few hours were a blur of emotions. They talked themselves hoarse, confirming every detail of their time together to be sure that they had truly shared the same history. "Do you remember...?" she would ask, over and over again. "Yes, I remember," he would answer.

They stayed in physical contact with each other constantly, as if they each needed reassurance that the other was real. He held her hand as she told him about watching him pull the pin from the flagpole. She stroked his cheek as he told her how beautiful she had looked in her red dress. They stretched out together on his bed, spooning, his arm wrapped around her waist as she told him how long she had been in love with him.

And yet there were things they didn't say. It was still too painful to talk about the crash. He was afraid she blamed him, and that once the joy of finding each other again had worn off, she wouldn't be able to forgive him. 

She avoided the same topic for a different reason. Because she knew she would cry again, and she had cried enough over it. Because now was a time to be happy, and only happy, at least for a while. And because she blamed herself too. She was the one on the ground, the one who should have been more cool-headed, more prepared. She should have had Howard standing by already in anticipation of his call. She should have known that once he stopped Schmidt, as she knew he would, that the next task would be to get control of the ship. When he said there wasn't time for the coordinates, she should have had another plan. She had let him down and ruined both their lives. Well, almost ruined, apparently.

They held each other; they were elated and sad together. They finally fell asleep, their bodies still pressed together, late into the night.

***

Waking in the late morning, for a moment it seemed like a dream. It was different being with him now. They had already been in love, but now they were intimate, with the familiarity and closeness of people who had known each other for years. He stirred next to her, but neither of them showed any inclination of ever getting up. "Morning," he kissed her.   
"Good morning, my darling," she answered.

"I like hearing you call me that," he said as he kissed her neck.

"Well, I love being able to say it to you," she answered, goosebumps spreading across her skin as his lips reached the back of her neck.

"Mmm, you like that," he commented, noticing her reaction.

"There are a lot of other things I like," she said, trying, and failing, to sound casual.

"Why don't you show me?" He lavished kisses on her neck, brushed his lips across her earlobe, her cheek, and her chin, before returning to her lips.

Sunlight was pouring through the window. He was wearing just his shorts, and she was wearing only the v-neck t-shirt he had given her to sleep in. He kissed her deeply as he slipped his hand inside the neckline to caress her breasts.

It was very different this time. The first time they had been hungry for each other, desperate, but also giddy at discovering each other, experiencing something they had both imagined countless times. This time, the emotions that the last evening had brought to the surface were still with them, and they were both fragile. They moved carefully with each other, almost reverently. 

Steve had always been a quick learner, she remembered. While she had taken the lead before, he was already more sure of himself. He clearly remembered every spot, every type of touch she had reacted to before. It was incredibly sexy how intensely he paid attention to her, and to her pleasure. Although she also looked forward to a time when they would feel free to improvise.

Afterwards, as they held each other, she suddenly felt an icy coldness forming in the pit of her stomach. They had been given back to each other, but for how long? Neither of them knew how they had ended up in the 70s, which meant that they didn't know if they would somehow be pulled apart again.

"Promise me we'll never be away from each other again," she asked him in a whisper, even though she knew he couldn't ensure any such thing.

"I promise," he said, holding her tighter, even though he knew as well as she did that there were no guarantees.


	9. Just when I needed you most

They both fell asleep for a little while. Steve woke up first, feeling as relaxed and content as he could ever remember being. He lay there with a smile on his face, his arm still around her waist, marveling at the fact that they were together, that she was there, warm, lying next to him in his bed, breathing softly in and out. For so long, he had woken up every day to the realization that she was gone, a cold weight that sank into his chest as all he had lost hit him over and over again.

Her face was so relaxed in sleep, and he was careful not to move so that he wouldn’t wake her. He wanted more time to just look at her: her perfectly shaped lips, the strong curve of her jaw, her elegant neck. He tried to take in every detail so he could sketch her later. He gazed at the smooth skin of her shoulder, wanting to press a soft kiss to it, but still hesitant to wake her. But as he admired her beautiful skin, he was jarred out of his reverie by two unfamiliar scars on the back of her shoulder.

After a while, she stirred, shifted, and opened her eyes to see him staring at her. She smiled at him and stretched. She was so beautiful, and she looked so happy, and he didn’t want to spoil the moment, but he couldn't stop himself. 

“Peggy,” he said, unable to contain himself, “Are these bullet wounds?” he asked, brushing his thumb across the scar tissue on her bare shoulder. “When did you get them?”

“Not long after you…were gone. There were still quite a lot of Hydra cells to take care of,” she said, not looking at him.

“How did it happen?” he asked, still brushing his fingers across the marks.

“It was stupid, really. Dugan warned me not to go rummaging around in that bunker, but I thought I had it under control, that we had cleared everyone out. I didn’t wait for my back up, and sure enough, a sniper got me from behind.”

“You were less cautious than Dugan? That doesn’t sound like you.”

“Well, I was a bit reckless then,” she said, sitting up with her back against the headboard and pulling the sheet up to tuck under her arms.

“What do you mean, reckless?” he said, sitting up as well, the sheet around his waist.

“It doesn’t matter. It was all so long ago, and I don’t really want to talk about it.” She slid her feet out onto the floor and reached for the shirt she had been wearing. 

As she had turned, she displayed her bare back to him. The fair skin of her hip looked like it would be so soft, he thought distractedly. Immediately afterwards he remembered that he knew exactly how soft it was, but that didn’t make it any less intriguing. An unexpected rush of desire flashed through him; he wanted her again already.

Thankfully, she pulled the shirt on and stood up. “Besides, I’m famished,” she said. Why don’t we make breakfast?”

“It wasn’t that long ago for you. I don’t really want to talk about it either, but I think we need to,” he said in a serious tone. Then more softly, he added, “Please, Peggy,” as he reached for her hand.

“All right,” she said, sitting back down and turning to face him. “I was just reckless, that’s all. After the Valkyrie went down, I just wasn't so careful.”

“Peggy,” he said, taking ahold of her shoulders and turning her gently so that she had to look him in the eye. “Were you trying to get yourself killed?”

“You sound just like Phillips,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “He called me into his office and asked me the same thing.”

“And what did you say?”

“I said, no, but I just wasn't particularly concerned about it happening. He pulled me out of the field, Phillips did. And then when I transferred to work at the SSR in New York, he still wouldn’t recommend me for field agent status. It was a convenient excuse for them to make me a desk agent. Most of the reason was that I was a woman, of course.”

“I want to hear all about that sometime, but right now I just want to know one thing. Were you reckless because of me?”

She supposed it was time for complete honesty with him. “Yes,” she finally said, wincing at the pain she saw in his eyes. “I missed you so much. And worse than that, I knew it was my fault.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It was my fault that you were gone. How many times did I help you plan a mission? We were supposed to be providing you with tactical support. But when you were in the middle of a battle and really needed it, I failed you. I should have had Howard ready on the radio. And I should have made sure you had a tracking beacon with you. I should have anticipated that you could end up on a plane; we should have had our own plane standing by, I should have…done a lot of things. I’ve had plenty of time to think about it.” She spoke quickly and with little feeling, reciting a list that she knew well.

“There was no way you could have anticipated any of that. No one did. I didn’t. No one else on the team did. I suggested the plan for the mission; any shortcomings in the plan are on me. I can’t believe you’ve blamed yourself when it was my fault,” he said, rubbing his forehead with his hand. “And aside from any problems with tactical planning, I should have come up with another solution when I was on the plane.”

“But how could you in the heat of the moment? You had seconds to decide, not minutes.” 

“I know, but, maybe I could have turned it around somehow, or set it to crash and jumped out.”

“That’s easy to say in hindsight, but you can’t blame yourself for not thinking of those things.” 

“Then why can you blame yourself?”

“Because it was my job to keep you safe,” she said, her voice breaking and tears springing to her eyes.

He crushed her to him. “It was my job to keep you safe,” he said. “Not because of the mission, but because I love you. And I didn’t. I left you on your own.” He kept holding her tightly, partially so he wouldn’t have to look her in the eyes; he wasn’t sure he could handle it right now. “Can you ever forgive me?” he asked quietly.

“You? Of course—there’s nothing to forgive. But I couldn’t forgive myself.”

Her words jolted him out of his own guilt. He wasn’t going to let anyone make the woman he loved feel like that, even if she was doing it to herself. “I’m not going to argue with you about what you could have done: you’re too stubborn,” he said, pulling away a little to look at her. “But I didn’t die in the crash, and we’re together now. If you could forgive me, you’re going to have to forgive yourself. I won’t let anyone treat you like that, not even you.”

“Does that mean you’ll forgive yourself too?” 

“I’ll try.”

“I guess that will have to be good enough for now.” 

Still holding each other, they lay back down on the bed, staying like that for a long time. Peggy knew that one conversation couldn’t erase a year of guilt and grief, but somehow, something deep within her that seemed irretrievably broken felt like it had started to knit itself back together a little, like a bone mending.

“Coffee or tea?” Steve asked her after a while. 

“Coffee,” she answered. 

“Stay right where you are, and I'll bring you breakfast in bed,” he said, giving her a quick kiss before heading out of the room.

She was only able to wait a few minutes before she followed him. She found him in the kitchen already frying eggs. Coffee was brewing and he had set out two mugs.

“I thought I told you to relax, that I'd bring breakfast to you,” he said as he pulled two pieces of toast out of the toaster.

“I missed you already, darling,” she said, sliding her arms around him from behind. He turned to face her. 

“Marry me today,” he said out of nowhere. 

“All right,” she said equally quietly. 

“Really?” he looked at her, his face lighting up. “No objections? No ‘What's the hurry? I love you but there's plenty of time for that later’?’” 

“I guess I've learned - the hard way- that there we don't always have the time we think.” 

“Wait, wait. I can’t believe I just did that. Stay here. Really stay this time. I’ll be right back.” He sped out of the room and was back half a minute later with a ring box in his hand.

“I wanted to do this the right way, with a romantic evening out, but now that I’ve just blurted it out, I guess I’d better finish the job.” He promptly got down on one knee, taking her hand in his. 

“Peggy Carter, I’ve been in love with you since the first moment I saw you. I love you more than anything, and I want to spend every day for the rest of my life making you as happy as possible.  
Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she said as he slipped the ring on her finger.

“I hope you like it,” he said, as he stood up. “I know It’s a little old-fashioned.” 

“So are we,” she said, looking up from the ring to him and smiling.

“It’s the closest thing I could find to my mother’s ring.” He had searched vintage and antique stores for weeks until he had found something that was similar and that he thought she would like.

“It’s beautiful. I love it,” she said, examining the ring. The style was typical of those she had seen from the 1910s, with a small diamond set low, and delicate filigree work on the band. She was surprised that he had a ring already. “How long have you been planning to propose?”

“Let’s see, by my count, it’s about 36 years. Since the day you shot at me.”

“You’re never going to let that drop, are you?”

“No,” he said, smiling, “Never. When you got that mad, I knew that I wasn’t just imagining you felt something for me.”

“You mean you didn’t realize I was trying to flirt with you in the car that day?”

“You were?”

“Clearly we still have a lot to talk about,” she said, laughing. “If you’ve been thinking about this so long, then why today?”

"Because I will never take a second of our time together for granted again,” he said, turning serious, tracing the side of her face with his fingers. “I never told you how I felt when I had the chance, and I’m not going to make that mistake again.”

He took her hand and looked down at the ring, brushing his thumb back and forth across it, speaking just above a whisper. “I want to bind you to me, to be bound to you in any way available to us. I don't want to be away from you again, even for a night. You can move in here or I can move in with you, whatever you want. But I want to go to bed tonight with you as my wife, because you're my family.”

She embraced him, laying her head on his chest and nodding in silent agreement. He folded her into his arms. Her emotions were still so raw she thought she might cry again, this time from happiness. There was so much she wanted to say in response that she couldn't quite formulate into words. She who was never at a loss for words. “I love you,” she said simply. 

“I love you, too.” he replied. After a while, he let go of her and turned his attention back to breakfast. “So,” he said finally, “coffee, breakfast, and then we get married.”

"Sounds lovely,” she answered. And it did.

***

They took their time with breakfast, then showered and dressed. They were about to head to Peggy’s apartment so that she could change clothes before they looked into getting a marriage license.

Peggy picked up her handbag, and Steve helped her on with her coat. He turned the doorknob, opened the door, and froze. 

She was about to ask what was wrong when the door slowly drifted open far enough for her to see. A man in an expensive-looking suit stood there, his hand poised to knock. 

Peggy couldn’t believe it. She was looking right into the face of Howard Stark.


	10. Here you come again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Lovely Readers,
> 
> I just want to thank you for your patience in waiting for this update. Rest assured I will never abandon a story. Thank you for your comments; I treasure each and every one and am still working on replies.
> 
> Love,  
> BiteMeMarvelCanon

“Steve Rogers, I presume,” Howard said, looking Steve up and down.

“Yes,” Steve answered, motioning him in and closing the door behind him.

“And you’re Peggy Carter,” Howard continued, looking over at her.

She nodded. Neither of them were sure what to say, not knowing what their relationship with Howard was in this time period, not even sure if Howard was from this time period.

“I know who both of you are, yet I’ve never laid eyes on either of you before in my life. And I know a lot more than just your names,” Howard continued.

“You used to weigh about 90 pounds,” he said, nodding at Steve.

“You’re a dead-eye shot,” he continued, turning towards Peggy.

“You make a truly miserable pot of coffee,” he said, pointing at Steve.

“I do not. Why does everyone say that?” Steve protested.

“Not now, Steve,” Peggy interrupted.

“How, you might ask, do I know all this?” Howard continued, walking into Steve’s living room. “Dreams, my friends. I’ve been in Brazil for the last few months, mixing business with pleasure as usual, when I started having the strangest dreams. It was World War II and I was working on a top secret project with you two characters. But these dreams weren’t like any dreams I’ve ever had, they were much too vivid, much too detailed. Still, there wasn’t much I could do about it. Tried some sleeping pills, but I still had the dreams.” 

“Then I happened to check in with my secretary. Imagine my surprise when she said that a woman named Peggy Carter had tried to get in touch with me. The very same woman I had been dreaming about. So I have my staff look into the name Steve Rogers, and wouldn’t you know it, he works in the same building. So I headed back to here to get to the bottom of this. I went in today to meet you both officially, only to find that you had both called in sick. And I must say I’m shocked to find you here together,” he added, raising his eyebrows.

“I have a feeling that neither of you are supposed to be here, or should I say, now. So tell me everything,” he said, making himself comfortable on Steve’s couch. “And please also tell me you have something to drink around here.”

“Howard, it’s not even noon,” Peggy scolded, falling into her usual way of interacting with him. He was just so typically Howard that she couldn’t help it. She had missed him.

“I’m still on Brazilian time,” he shrugged.

“And it’s not yet two p.m. there. Still much too early to be drinking, even for you,” Peggy replied, as she took off her coat and settled into an armchair. Steve, much more agreeable, had simply gone back to the kitchen to get Howard a drink.

“I need to get this sorted out so I can get back to my regularly scheduled dreams, if you know what I mean.” By the disgusted look Peggy gave him, she had a good idea what he meant. “What? I’m a genius; it's part of my process.”

“And I don’t think you should look so shocked, madam, as you were about to leave a gentlemen friend’s apartment around noon looking like you’re wearing last evening’s date dress.” Howard continued, raising an eyebrow at her.

“That’s absolutely none of your business, Howard, but I’ll have you know that we’re engaged. And we were on our way out to get a marriage license,” Peggy sniffed, purposely ignoring his point about her dress. Steve walked back into the room with whiskey and water in a highball glass. He handed it to Howard and perched on the arm of the chair Peggy was sitting in.

“You can go out for the license after you’ve told me all about what’s going on here,” Howard continued after a long sip of his drink, and an even longer satisfied sigh. “There’s no hurry. You have to wait ten days to get married in New York.”

“You’re kidding. You didn’t have to wait that long before,” Steve said.

“Oh, I’m serious. I wouldn’t joke about that. It’s saved me from the altar many times,” Howard explained. “But back to the issue at hand. As I was just telling your fiancee, we need to get the two of you sorted out, so that I can get back to my usual kind of dreams. You, my friend, mix a good drink, but you’re a far cry from the blondes I usually dream about,” Howard said, pointing at Steve. 

“You,” he said, turning his attention to Peggy, “are more what I'm used to as far as brunettes go, but the ones I dream about don't slap me so hard. At least not unless I ask them to,” he said with a wink.

Peggy narrowed her eyes at him and curled her upper lip in disgust.

“Howard,” Steve said, the warning clear in his voice.

“So, let’s get down to business,” Howard said, taking the hint. “Tell me how the two of you ended up here.” They filled Howard in on the details of how they had found themselves in the 70s. As much as Howard seemed unable to focus in his personal life, his level of concentration was impressive when he was working. He fired multiple questions at them, often remaining silent for as long as a minute after their answers as he sorted through the implications. After more than an hour, Peggy was tired and Steve seemed somewhat grim, but Howard was more energetic than ever. Finally, he was out of questions, but Steve had one for him.

“One thing I don’t understand is how you can be here if you’re the same person we knew during the war,” Steve said.

“Well, that’s an interesting problem,” Howard replied. “It seems as if I’m here, but I’m also somehow connected to the Howard Stark you knew in the 40’s, or at least to his consciousness. It could be a bubble universe or any number of other things. This is what makes time travel so good,” he continued, rubbing his hands together, “the contradictions and paradoxes. I’ll know more after we dig into this tomorrow, but I’ve already got several possible theories about what happened.”

“How many?” Peggy asked.

“Nine. I’m going to go home and get some sleep, and we can start fresh tomorrow at my lab. In the meantime, the two of you can go apply for that marriage license. You know, I always knew there was something going on between the two of you. How long have you been fonduing?”

“Ok, that’s your cue to leave,” Peggy said, pulling him up by the arm.

Steve strode purposefully over to him, and for a moment, Peggy was afraid he was going to hit him. But instead he stopped short, giving Howard a hug. “I’ve missed you, Howard,” was all he said.

****

Steve and Peggy had told Howard that they would be at his office bright and early the next morning. He had told them that he would be in at eleven. 

By eleven fifteen, they had been ushered into his office. Howard spread a map of New York out on the huge worktable in his office. “Now I want you to show me exactly where you were when you touched this stone,” Howard instructed.

Steve leaned over the table, holding a pencil, orienting himself. Of course the buildings had changed, but he quickly figured out just about where on the block the building he had been in stood and marked it on the map.

Peggy took the pencil from him, looking a bit longer than he had at the map. She leaned forward, then seemed to second guess herself, and walked to the other side of the table. Howard, always impatient, was about to say something to her, but Steve held up his hand and shushed him, not wanting to disturb her concentration.

“This is odd,” she finally said, her hands on her hips. “Unless I’m mistaken, the spot where you found the stone is exactly the same place where I found it. I thought I must be confused, but I’ve double- and triple-checked myself.”

“Really?” Steve asked, leaning over the map and turning it, checking that he hadn’t made a mistake.

“Actually, that makes perfect sense,” Howard interjected. “We’re dealing with some kind of time travel.

Peggy and Steve looked up at him simultaneously, waiting for him to go on.

“It’s a question of where or when,” Howard said thoughtfully. “It doesn't so much matter when you are if you're in the same place, or where you are if you're in the same time. Time and space are related, in case you haven't heard.”

“When you each touched the artifact,” he continued, “You must have been standing in the same place. You pulled each other here, or more precisely, to now.” 

“What do you mean pulled each other here?” Peggy asked. She looked over at Steve questioningly, and he shook his head in response, shrugging slightly. 

“You don’t think it’s a coincidence that you’re in 1979, do you?” Howard asked.

“Yes,” Steve answered for both of them.

Howard sighed, “As my father used to say, ‘Buy you books, send you to school, and you eat the covers.’ ” They both looked back at him. “You are from 1946,” he said, pointing at Peggy. “And you say you’re from 2012. And the year that is exactly halfway in between those two is….”

“1979?” Steve offered. 

“Excellent,” Howard said, smiling but still exasperated. ”I knew you were more than just a pretty face.” He leaned forward and examined the spot marked on the map. “What I’m trying to say is that this stone, whatever it is, didn’t bring you two here, it enabled you to bring each other here.”

Steve walked around the table to Peggy, taking her hand. “What does that mean about what’s going to happen? Are we going to stay here? Be sent back?”

“I don’t know. I wish I did. But I do know what the next step is. Let’s go take a look at the place where the two of you encountered this stone.” He picked up the map, looking at the spot Steve had marked. “How’s that for another coincidence? I own that building.”


End file.
